


I could be your perfect disaster, you could be my ever after

by queenlara



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4987450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenlara/pseuds/queenlara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has always had uncommon opinions regarding soul marks and hates hers in particular, but a chance encounter with her reclusive neighbor, Josh, after a thwarted burglary attempt might just change her mind.  Soulmate AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is inspired by the album [Ever After](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVmTpb0BTIs) by Marianas Trench, and the entire album is actually one giant song, and I love them so much. The chapter titles will be coming from there, so it's a great idea to listen to the song for each chapter. This chapter is [Ever After](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cts6y-v7hhU), and it's also where the fic title came from.

_Once upon a time_

_I used to romanticize_

_Used to be somebody, nevermind_

Sam has always passively hated her soul mark. The neatly scrawled _‘Hello?’_ wraps around the back of her neck, alerting anyone and everyone that her soulmate is completely and utterly unoriginal.

She’s always assumed they would speak first; Sam used to introduce herself with long, rambling sentences so at least _one_ of them would be able to know that they’ve just met their soulmate. That always earned her weird looks, so she eventually grew out of it, figuring that it would work out eventually. And if it didn’t, who cares? Sam herself is the product of a non-soulmate match. Her mother has ‘ _It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?’_ in a careful cursive script along the back of her calf, and her father has no words at all.

Sam’s mother never talks about if she ever met her soulmate or not, and Sam knows enough now to not ask about it.

Currently, Sam is wrapped in a towel, sitting on the tiny bathroom counter with her hair pulled aside by one hand as she studies the backwards ‘ _Hello?_ ’ in the fogged mirror. Her eyes rove over the stilted handwriting, re-committing it to memory as best she ever can; it’s hard to, when you’ve only seen your soul mark in a mirror. With a sigh, she slides off the wobbly counter.

Her apartment in L.A. is shit, to put it kindly. As an undergrad, Sam had grandiose dreams of going to Berkeley Law School and specializing in environmental law, but reality and tuition costs came a-knockin’. She was already in debt from undergrad, so Sam had opted to become a certified paralegal and try and fulfill her dreams that way. Sure, it’s a lot of reading, coffee-fetching, and being mistaken for a secretary; but she earns enough to live in this sleazy little apartment without a roommate. It isn’t worth trying to move to a better place, not when she gets a solid deal on rent from her kindly old landlady.

 _Even if it isn’t the best neighborhood_ , she thinks. Sam keeps a baseball bat, a housewarming gift from Mike, tucked next to her bed.

Pulling on an over-large sleep shirt that just has the faded logo of her undergraduate school on it, she slips into bed. Her phone is dead, and plugged into the outlet across the room, so she sets her old alarm clock and falls asleep almost instantly.

She’s awakened with a crash, and she bolts upright, hand already fumbling for the baseball bat. Sam stands next to her peeling bedroom door, trying to ignore the ugly paint job and focus on the the noises muffled by the wood. She hears soft footsteps as whoever it is moves quietly around her apartment, and her heart rate spikes.

_A robber? Shit, I left my watch from dad in the kitchen._

She can’t let this goddamn thief steal her only nice piece of jewelry, the one she leaves by her morning coffee cup so she remembers to put it on every morning. Gripping her bat more securely, she silently turns the knob.

He’s in the kitchen, dressed in ratty black clothes and a large overcoat. The cheap lock on her apartment door hangs haphazardly broken. _He must’ve forced the door open_.

Sam’s foot hits the creaky spot under the carpet, and he turns, her watch clutched in his hand.

They stand there, frozen, before he moves into action, trying to make a run for the door.

_Not with my watch, asshole!_

He isn’t counting on the fact that she was—still is, really—a track star, as she chases him, swinging her bat and getting a good hit on his shoulder. The thief lets out a strangled cry and drops the watch, but instead of running he launches himself at her, tackling her to the ground. Sam is dazed, bat rolling out of her hand, as he lands one good hit on her face and then another.

Her fingers scramble for her lost weapon, and she finds purchase. Sam only has one shot at this, but as he raises his hand for another hit, she slams the bat into the side of his head. It’s enough that he topples over, blood dripping from the wound she gave him.

Sam doesn’t wait for him to wake back up, and scrambles upwards, grabbing her watch in one hand and the bat in the other. Her phone’s probably still dead, and her face is throbbing. She needs to call the police. She stumbles out of her open front door to the unit across the hallway and starts hammering the door with the hand clutching the watch.

Sam’s never met her neighbor across the way, but hopefully they’re the kind of person that opens their door in the middle of the night, even if the girl knocking is holding a slightly bloody baseball bat and has crazed eyes full of panic.

The door cracks open, and she sees the chain pull taut as the man blearily peaks through the opening.

“Hello?” he says sleepily—and even though her adrenaline’s pounding and her face hurts, electricity still crackles down her spine. She’s heard the greeting thousands of times from thousands of people, and every time she’s painfully aware of the words branding her neck.

But there’s an unconscious man in her apartment, so now’s not the time for weird electric connections. She launches into her speech:

“Hi, I’m your neighbor and there’s a man in my apartment and he was trying to steal my stuff and I knocked him out with my bat and please, _please_ let me in because I need to call the police and my phone is dead.”

He blinks at her, and shuts the door.

Sam can hear the quiet _snick_ as he takes off the chain, then he opens the door, standing in a pair of linen pajama pants and a fitted t-shirt. His hair is rumpled from sleep, though the bags under his eyes suggest he doesn’t get nearly enough of it. He’s tall, much taller than her, and if she wasn’t in fight-or-flight mode she could appreciate his jawline and his fit physique.

“Come in,” he says quietly, voice slightly hoarse from sleep, and she shuffles inside. Sam’s suddenly acutely aware that she’s only dressed in a large shirt, but she leans her bat against the wall by the door.

He moves away, to do god-knows-what, and she shifts her weight from foot to foot, staring at the dingy carpet to resist the temptation to study his apartment. Sam’s startled when he shoves a phone in her face.

“Here.”

Trembling fingers dial the three numbers she hoped she’d never have to, and she rattles off the situation and her address to the monotone operator. The conversation is short and clinical, and she taps the “End Call” button before handing the phone back to her neighbor. She’s exhausted, the reality of the situation crashing down on her. She’ll have to replace her locks, fix any damage, and hope the office gossip won’t go haywire with her rapidly bruising face.

“So, uh, you come here often?” Her neighbor says, breaking the silence, and she raises her eyebrows.

“Do you always use cheesy pickup lines on girls who’ve been robbed?”

“Dirty jokes and terrible flirting are kind of my knee-jerk reaction, sorry. I’m not really sure how to handle this,” he admits, and Sam can almost feel a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, but the thought of the thief left unattended in her place ruins any chance of that.

Sam sighs and picks up the baseball bat, and her neighbor jumps back, hands raised in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you, so please put that down?” He looks like he’s trying to calm a frightened animal, and tries to wave away the misunderstanding.

“Ah, you misunderstand me. I’m gonna go back to my apartment and wait for the police. I’m not gonna hit the guy who came to my rescue at three in the morning.”

“You’re gonna go back... with an unconscious criminal on your floor?”

“I don’t want him to get away,” Sam frowns at him, and he frowns back.

They stare at each other for a minute, and he throws his hands up in frustration. “Fine! Fine. Crazy bat lady can handle anything,” he mutters. She ignores the last part, focusing only on his acquiescence.

“Good,” she smiles smugly, and grips her bat tightly before marching out of his apartment.

He follows her, carefully closing the door behind him.

_Um, what?_

“I’m not letting you go alone,” he answers her unasked question.

“Do you think I can’t handle this?” her irritation grows, spurred by the stress of the night and the perceived slight against her abilities. She’s a modern woman, dammit, and she took that stupid thief down by herself.

“Listen, I have two sisters. I have no doubt you can handle it, but for my peace of mind, please let me go with you,” he says, gesturing wildly with his hands. Sam’s irritation begins to melt away. She’s just lashing out at an easy target, it’s not his fault some asshole broke into her shitty apartment.

“Whatever,” is what she ends up saying, and toes her door open. There’s some blood spattered on the carpet, but the culprit is gone. She flicks on the lightswitch, momentarily blinded by the light.

“Shit!” Sam curses angrily, dropping the bat on the floor and setting her watch on the kitchen counter. Her neighbor follows her into her apartment, glancing at the blood on the floor.

“I’ll still wait, just in case he comes back or something,” he mumbles, and she waves a hand.

“Okay. And... I’m sorry for lashing out. You’ve been nothing but kind, especially for letting a girl with a baseball bat into your apartment in the middle of the night. So... thanks. I owe you one,” Sam tells him, looking seriously at him. “Really. Thanks.”

His cheeks color slightly. “It’s fine. I mean, if something like this happened to my sisters, I’d want someone to do the same thing.”

Sam nods in understanding. She’s an only child, but she imagines if she had siblings she’d feel the same way. They stand in silence for a moment, but Sam’s too damn tired to feel awkward about it. She leans against the kitchen counter, tapping her fingers on it in a rhythmic pattern. Her neighbor leans against her threadbare couch and stares intently at the rapidly drying bloodstains on the floor.

“I should probably clean that up,” Sam says more to herself than anyone else, stepping into the tiny kitchen and grabbing her almost empty bottle of stain remover from under the sink. She snags her role of paper towels and kneels on the carpet, methodically spraying and scrubbing away the stains. Her neighbor watches her work in silence.

 _How long does it take for the police to arrive?_ Sam wonders idly. She thinks about her soul mark, and how it could be anyone, it could be him—

“I’m Josh, by the way,” he offers eventually, and she looks up when he speaks. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his pajama pants, and he looks oddly vulnerable standing there, barefoot and in his pjs.

“Sam,” she replies. She goes back to cleaning the carpet, and without looking up, she says,  “you said my soul mark, by the way. _Hello?_ ”

She regrets the words almost as soon as they’re out of her mouth— _Great job, Kamkin, I thought we swore off soulmates and soul marks after our last breakup—after Claire_.

Josh has a brief coughing fit, but she continues to speak anyways, her words rushed and her heart pounding. “I mean, you’re not the first. I’ve heard it a million times, but I figured, you know, if you have my words. Then. Yeah.” Sam refuses to look up, trying to hide her blush by continuing to scrub at the fading bloodstain.

“Um. I don’t. Have a soulmate,” Josh says eventually, his voice strained, and she ignores the brief pang of disappointment and the creeping fear that she brought up a taboo subject. Some people like not having a soul mark, some people hate it—it’s hard to tell in the best of situations, and this situation’s already feeling a bit surreal.

“I figured I wasn’t the one, but it was worth a shot,” Sam shrugs, keeping her voice bland and level. “Sorry if that’s a bad topic. I’m always putting my foot in my mouth,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat.

“It’s fine,” Josh replies shortly, and she hides her cringe behind a curtain of hair as she stares at the carpet. Sirens are beginning to approach in the distance, so she stands up awkwardly.

_I definitely fucked up. Goddammit, Kamkin—your kind of hot neighbor saves you, and you offend him by not only suggesting he’s your soulmate, but also bringing up a very painful topic for him._

“Well, the cops are almost here, so you should probably go, or they’ll interrogate you, too,” Sam says, smile feeling slightly forced.

“Um, yeah.” Josh replies distractedly, one hand scratching idly at the back of his head and his gaze looking everywhere but her face. He stands there for a beat too long, his mind obviously elsewhere. Sam watches him, waiting, and he seems to realize his faux-pas and then bolts out the door without so much as a goodbye.

She steps into the hallway to meet the cops downstairs, and glances at Josh’s door. The paint is newer than hers, but otherwise it’s identical to her door except for the numbers—she lives in _302A_ , and he lives in _302B._ “It was nice to meet you, even if I tremendously fucked up,” Sam tells the closed door, positive he won’t hear it.

Sam takes a deep breath, resolving herself to move forward. She’s frazzled, her face hurts, and she just made the neighbor who saved her hate her, but she’s nothing if not optimistic—she’s alive, relatively unharmed, and she can always apologize and thank him tomorrow.

_I would make a better liar_

_And never face the music when it's dire_

_And I breathe disaster, ever after_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't stop writing Sam x Josh, apparently. I'll admit, I'm in love with Soulmate AUs, so this is definitely a guilty pleasure for me. The updates for this fic will **not** be daily, unlike my last fic. I haven't come up with a schedule for posting yet, but I do have about 13k written. Please R &R and let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, a big thanks to my beta and roommate [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas) for being amazing, and a big thanks to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for reading this and assuring me that it wasn't terrible. (I wasn't getting a lot of sleep, and had looked at the google doc for so long I thought everything was trash, but thankfully she talked some sense into me). Also, go read her amazing stories!
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Haven't Had Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: This chapter is [Haven't Had Enough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UBX7H6ckna0)
> 
> More importantly, check out this beautiful [fan art](http://nyssaherself.tumblr.com/post/131130721656/i-illustrated-a-scene-from-veryspookybisexuals) that [nyssaherself](http://nyssaherself.tumblr.com/) did of Josh and Sam's fateful meeting! It's beautiful and I love it!

_I've been stuck now so long,_

_We just got the start wrong,_

_One more last try,_

She gets two. fucking. hours. of. sleep.

The cops leave around four, slightly bewildered at this small woman who beat a six-foot-man with a baseball bat—‘ _You... chased him off?’ ‘No, I knocked him out. With that bat.’_ —they searched the apartment for any clues—‘ _Miss, you shouldn’t have cleaned the carpet, we could’ve taken a sample.’ ‘Well, if it had dried, I would’ve had to pay the landlady for damages, and the guy didn’t take anything.’_ —and wrote up a report. She ices her face to keep the swelling down while they pace the tiny space. Her face is numb, she’s tired, and she just wants these guys to leave. Finally, her wish is granted.

“There’s nothing we can do unless he comes back, miss,” the younger officer had said as he closed the door behind him. _During my lunch break, I’ll buy a new lock for my door_ , Sam promises herself as she climbs into bed, placing her baseball bat back next to her bed.

She falls asleep in seconds, and her alarm goes off a minute later—or that’s what it feels like, anyway. Sam rolls out of bed with a groan, stumbling to the bathroom.

Her face is purpling and ugly, and she pokes her cheek gently, wincing. The right side of her face looks terrible, and she dreads trying to explain this at the law office. Sam carefully dabs foundation over the bruising, and even though it’s not perfect, she looks less like she lost a match in an underground fighting ring.

Her day passes by quickly—Sam glosses over explanations in the office, and quickly hides at her desk for the rest of the day, reading over case precedents for one of the lawyer’s next cases. The legal jargon annoys her more than it normally does, and her reading glasses are giving her a headache.

Her coworker and friend, Ashley, comes over to her desk to give her a welcome distraction. It’s hard to ignore the messy ‘ _Forgive me for my dad-jokes and puns’_ tattooed down her inner forearm, and Ashley strokes the tattoo with the pad of her thumb as a nervous habit. Sam had told her a more complete version of last night’s events than her other coworkers, and as a result, Ashley’s brow was furrowed as she touched her tattoo like a lucky talisman.

“Sam, I’m worried about you in that crappy apartment. Who’s to say that guy doesn’t come back?”

Sam tries to reassure her friend, but Ashley still looks worried when they part at five-thirty on the dot. “Just be safe, okay?” Ashley asks her, and Sam gives her a jaunty wave in response.

The first thing she does when she gets home is install her shiny new lock, which promises top-notch security and theft prevention. She’s not sure how the second-cheapest lock at the hardware store can deliver on these promises, but it’s a chance she’s willing to take.

The door across the way taunts her, and Sam knows she should go over and apologize and thank Josh, but she’s having a hard time trying to scrape up the courage to do it. She can still picture his face as he tried to hide the hurt.

It’s her fault for bringing up soul marks. They’re an incredibly private thing, and if she hadn’t been coming down from an adrenaline high and exhausted, she probably wouldn’t have mentioned it.

“Grow a pair, Kamkin. You’re supposed to be the brave one,” she scolds herself as she tosses the plastic packaging for the lock into her recycling bin. “Just go apologize to the man, and then you never have to see him again.”

Squaring her shoulders, she crosses the hallway and knocks on the door. Time seems to stretch endlessly compared to last night when she was standing in this very spot, scared and hurting.

The door creaks open. The eye that looks out seems to be even more tired than last night—the bags under his eyes are dark and they almost resemble a bruise. Sam realizes that he’s waiting for her to speak.

“Hey, Josh... I just wanted to apologize. For last night. It wasn’t cool for me to bring up soul marks, they’re private—and I fucked up. Especially after you were nice enough to open the door for a crazy-looking girl with a baseball bat.”

Josh looks at her through the three-inch wide crack, obviously mulling over her apology. “I was just caught off guard. It’s not your fault,” he says eventually.

“You and a hundred other people,” Sam can’t help but mutter under her breath, but his ears are sharp.

“A hundred other people?”

“I mean, my soul mark is ‘ _Hello,’_ how many times in my life do you think I’ve heard that?” Sam asks him.

Josh lets out a startled laugh, like he hasn’t laughed in a very long time. It hurts her heart, and she takes a deep breath and a chance—

“Can I buy you dinner? Not like a date. But like, takeout. To thank you. To be honest, you look kinda tired, and it’s probably because of me, so at least let me feed you or something.”

As she waits for an answer, she begins to countdown from ten in russian, one of the only things her _babushka_ taught her. Sam’s at three when Josh finally answers.

“I mean, that would be... nice. I’d like that,” he says, and he looks surprised by his own answer.

“You should probably let me in, first,” Sam suggests. “It’d be a good place to start.”

“Oh—right.”

Thirty minutes later, they’re sprawled on Josh’s couch eating Chinese food. Sam can’t help but notice that despite the dingy apartment, all of his furniture is extremely nice and comfortable. Despite his initial awkwardness, he’s funny. She chalks up his long pauses to the exhaustion he’s obviously suffering from. He’s still wearing pajamas, but she notes they’re at least different than the ones last night.

“You’re a _vegan_?” he asks incredulously when Sam’s in the middle of shoving some tofu in her mouth. She chews and swallows before she answers, because she wasn’t raised in a _barn_ , thank-you-very-much.

“Yeah! Why are you saying that like I just told you I was a serial killer or something?” Sam says, emphatically pointing at him with her chopsticks. “If I feel bad for eating animals, then why not stop? God, stop looking at me like that. I’m not trying to convert you.”

“I’m worried it’s contagious,” Josh retorts, inching away from her on the spacious couch. “I’m a meat-loving boy, the way my mother raised me, and I’m not interested in any of that crazy vegan, hippie nonsense.”

“Meat-loving, huh?” Sam muses, and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at her, but his heart’s not in it.

They settle into another bout of slightly awkward silence as she contemplates why she’s half-laying, half-sitting on her neighbor’s incredibly nice suede couch, eating Chinese takeout. She stuffs another piece of tofu in her mouth to stop her from putting her foot in her mouth again.

_Why do you look so tired? Why do you look at me from the corner of your eyes when you think I’m not looking? Why didn’t the universe give you a soulmate?_

But Sam’s not tripped out on adrenaline, or exhausted from a tussle with a thief, so she doesn’t ask any of these question. Instead, what pops out is—

“So, uh, what do you do?”

And just like that, a fire kindles in his gaze, and his whole demeanor shifts—he looks more awake, alert, and _happy_. Sam didn’t realize how well animation and excitement suit his face as he launches into an explanation of how he’s a film critic, and how important movies are in pop culture and society. Josh is finally relaxing, and he keeps using his chopsticks to emphasize certain points. Sam’s smiling so much that her tender face hurts, as she listens to him talk about the finer points of framing and angles.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket.

_Ashley [9:48 PM]: Melanie’s case got pushed up, we’ve got overtime this week :/_

_Ashley [9:49 PM]: At least I can buy that new Harry Potter boxed set :D_

Sam taps a quick response out, and stands. Stretching her arms above her head, she says, “Unfortunately, a big case just got pushed up so I’ve gotta be at work early.”

Josh nods, some of the excitement that had been animating his face fading.

“Thank you, again,” Sam says honestly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t answered. I enjoyed talking to you, but I’ll let you go now. I need sleep, and you do, too.”

Josh shrugs. “I don’t sleep much in general.” His words are slightly stilted, and Sam frowns at the shift in the atmosphere of the  room. He starts collecting the empty Chinese food boxes, stacking them haphazardly on the coffee table.

“First, you should probably sleep. It’s good for you. And second, we should do this again sometime. I don’t have a lot of local friends outside of work.” Sam shrugs and fiddles with the hair tie on her wrist. She had taken her hair down before coming in Josh’s apartment to hide her soul mark—the last thing she wanted to do was remind him of what he didn’t have.

Josh looks taken aback, like he had never considered that she’d want to come back over. Honestly, she’s the one surprised—after she’d practically shoved her soul mark in his face, he’d still invited her into his apartment and let her lay around eating Chinese food.

Her face is beginning to ache, the ibuprofen she took early wearing off, and she rubs at it absently. Josh’s brows draw together, obviously noticing her discomfort, and his eyes are drawn to the spectacular bruise. She frowns at the perceived pity.

Sam fishes a pen out of her purse and grabs an unused napkin from their takeout, scribbling her number onto it. She sticks it on the fridge under a Seattle magnet.

He looks at the number on the fridge, then back to her, then back to the fridge, then back to her again.

She’s suddenly self-conscious about her decision, and resists the urge to fidget under his bewildered gaze. “My phone number,” she states needlessly, and with that, the spell breaks.

“I’m not stupid, Sam. I know what a phone number looks like.” Josh says, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

“Well, why are you looking at me like, I don’t know—I’ve sprouted a third head or something?”

“Because you live across the hall. I can literally just knock on your door,” he says slowly, like he’s talking to a toddler, but she can see the glimmer of humor in the quirk of his mouth. She’s frazzled, so she reacts defensively.

“I have overtime this week because of the case, so I figured I might as well! But if you really are so offended—” Sam moves to take the napkin from under the magnet, and he throws out a hand to stop her. She laughs and wiggles her finger at him. “I knew it!”

“You knew what?” Josh asks, both eyebrows raised now.

Sam shrugs in response. “I don’t know. I just know I know it.” Sliding her bag over her shoulder, she waves. “You have my number if you need me!”

With that, she’s out the door, closing it quietly behind her. Sam unlocks her own apartment door and slides her shoes off as soon as she’s inside. Her phone buzzes from the depths of her purse, and she digs it out.

_Mike [10:01 PM]: Are u coming this weekend?_

_Mike [10:01 PM]: Also did u hear Matt found his soulmate?_

_Sam [10:02 PM]: I’ll try, but work is literally killing me, ugh. And who?? Seriously, his words are ridiculous, I never thought it’d actually happen. Who says ‘Despite your fine ass and broad shoulders, you’re in my way’?_

_Mike [10:02 PM]: Emily, Jess’s best friend._

_Sam [10:03 PM] :o_

Despite the excitement that she feels over Matt finally meeting his soulmate, she can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. How was she supposed to find the right ‘ _Hello_ ’ in a world full of people with distinctive soul marks?

Stepping into the shower, Sam thinks about Matt and Emily, Mike and Jess, her mother and father—soulmates, soulmates, not soulmates. _Like some weird, fateful game of duck-duck-goose._

People have tried to study the effect that soul marks have on emotional development; to study marked and unmarked couples; how the death of a soulmate and the scarification of the words afterward affects mental health; to study how soul marks are portrayed in the media and how that influences expectations. She wonders what Josh would have to say about soul marks in cinema—and she wonders when she became curious about what her neighbor would think about anything.

Sam wonders why he doesn’t have a soul mark—why are there people who don’t have soulmates? Scientists have tried to discover the answer—hypothesizing that people without soulmarks have them because their only soulmate will be born years after they die, or that it’s a birth defect—but they have nothing to back up their suggestions.

Sam sits on the edge of the counter, wiping at the steam on the mirror, and studies her soul mark. She does this every night, a bizarre ritual of sorts. She likes to study the sharp lines of the _H_ and the loops of the double _ll_ ’s. She likes to imagine someone inking her skin, carefully signing the word that chains and binds her to them.

She likes to wonder if it’s ironic that her word circles the nape of her neck, delicate and vulnerable.

_You better get your story straight,_

_You can't stop this, and I must insist,_

_That you haven't had enough_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to my beta and roommate [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas) for being amazing, and a big thanks to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for generally giving me ideas and being a bully. Also, go read her amazing stories!
> 
> Thank y'all so much for reviewing and commenting. I appreciate it more than I can say!
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	3. By Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is [By Now](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRVzmjBYI4U)
> 
> Look at this [beautiful art](http://iizaya.tumblr.com/post/131189064057/veryspookybisexual-long-story-short-your-amazing) that [my smol child](http://iizaya.tumblr.com/) did of Sam kicking ass with a baseball bat! I love it!

_And I thought you'd feel the same as me_

_It's time that I come clean, but_

_But for now can we just both pretend to sleep_

The next morning, the bruising on her face is worse. Sam knows it gets worse before it gets better, but holy fuck—she looks like a victim of a violent crime. _Well, I suppose I_ am _a victim of a violent crime._

She’s up freakishly early, the last of the stars fading in pre-dawn. She needs to get a jump-start on the case prep-work today, Melanie sure to be a in a tizzy from the date change. Sam also needs to hit the grocery store. Her fridge is looking sad with a few apples and a leftover container of rice. As she sips at her coffee, she scribbles a few grocery necessities on a sticky note to put in her planner. On an impulse, she peels off the list and draws a happy face on the next note, and sticks it on Josh’s door on her way down the hall.

When she arrives back home later that night, her arms full of groceries, she notices the sticky note is gone. Sam doesn’t want to bother him two nights in a row, so she laces on her running shoes and goes for a long jog.

She doesn’t see him again until Thursday night.

Sam isn’t able to finish everything at the office, and the first day in court is tomorrow at 11:45, so she’s feverishly finishing the final draft for Melanie, who is still at the office preparing. It’s nearing one in the morning, and she still has a long way to go. Her dinner is sitting, half-eaten and cold on the corner of her tiny desk in the living room, and she can feel the headache growing behind her eyes when a knock on her door startles her.

It’s Josh, and he looks even more exhausted than the last time she saw him. She leans against her doorframe, waiting for him to speak—Sam knows if she speaks first, she’ll only snap at him, the stresses of the week shortening her temper.

“My washing machine broke,” is the first thing out of his mouth after a lengthy silence, and she can feel her eyebrows slowly raising. He doesn’t appear to want to say anything else, so Sam prompts him.

“Okay?”

“Can I borrow yours?”

Sam blinks. Well, _that_ took an unexpected direction.

“I ran out of clean clothes. So.”

“Sure? I guess?” Sam opens the door wider and gestures him in. “Knock yourself out. Not literally, but metaphorically. You get what I’m saying. Probably.”

Josh raises an eyebrow, and Sam defends herself, “I’ve been working overtime all week and have gotten very little sleep. I’m letting you use my washer. So no judging allowed.”

He raises his hands in mock-surrender. “No judgment here, Sammy. Nice shirt, by the way.”

She looks down, almost forgetting what shirt she’s wearing, but it’s the one Jess got her that says ‘ _Being Vegan just makes me better than most people_ ’, and she snorts. Then, the fact that he called her ‘Sammy’ so casually finally processes in her law-addled brain.

Sam wants to question the nickname, since they barely know each other and she suspects he’s been avoiding her, but she’s too tired to care. She points wordlessly at the washer and goes back to her desk to untangle legal jargon and tricky precedents.

She’s so tired she forgets he’s even in her cramped apartment, sorting darks and lights. Sam doesn’t hear the quiet, comforting sound of water filling up the machine, and jumps about a foot in the air when he taps her shoulder.

“Holy fucking hot sauce!”

Josh looks suitably apologetic, but then frowns slightly. “Holy fucking hot sauce?” he quotes at her, and she waves her hand irritably.

“A friend of mine uses it too much, and I’ve unfortunately picked up the habit. But geez, warn a girl! You scared me.”

“I was trying to get your attention, but you looked like you were boring lasers into your computer with your eyes.”

Sam rubs her eyes, reading glasses sliding down her nose. “Sorry. It’s just a tough case, I guess, and the stress in the office is contagious. Lawyers are kind of high strung.” She shrugs. “Maybe I’m just obsessing over this. I should probably stop looking at it for a bit, otherwise I’ll probably fall asleep on the keyboard.”

Shutting her laptop, Sam stands to stretch, her neck cracking uncomfortably. Josh winces at the crack in sympathy.

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” he comments as he takes a seat on her ancient floral couch.

She shrugs, indifferent. “I’ve got a job to do, and hopefully the health insurance will cover corrective surgery,” she jokes, but he’s staring at her, eyes appraising, and she feels vulnerable under his gaze.

“Why are you a paralegal?”

“I want to make a difference, save the environment, and I’m going to do a lot more working within the law than as a protester.” The words fall from her lips, practiced, just like she explained her motivations to every adult that questioned her life decisions, every family member that grilled her to find out if she had a twelve-step life plan.

“That’s not what I mean. Why aren’t you a lawyer? You’re obviously smart enough,” Josh says, hands absentmindedly playing with a loose thread on the couch.

“Money doesn’t grow on trees, and law school’s expensive,” Sam explains, the words sour in her mouth. How many times has she been asked this, by all sorts of people, and she hates the judgement she feels radiating from them.

“I didn’t mean to bring up a sore topic,” he says, tone apologetic. Josh doesn’t sound judgemental, he sounds genuinely curious, so she tries to curb her tongue from snapping, exhaustion muddling her temper.

So Sam doesn’t answer, instead pulling the hair tie out of her hair and brushing through it with her fingers, gently trying to untangle the knots before she puts it back up.

Sam leans over to gather her hair into a haphazard bun, when she hears Josh shift on the couch. She can’t see him through the curtain of her hair, so she doesn’t see the expression on his face when he asks, “Is that your soul mark? Your words?”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s my soul mark. But word, singular.” Sam says, twisting the bun up and securing it with her hair tie. The expression on his face is hard to read, but the furrow of his brow suggests confusion, not jealousy, or regret. _That’s a little odd, but I’m probably just too tired to tell_.

“Can I see it?” Josh asks quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

“Sure, I guess.” Sam answers, slightly off-kilter, and she sits down on the floor, back against the base of the couch and neck bared. He leans forward, and when his hands brush her neck she resists the shiver that zips down her spine.

They sit there, silently wrapped in the web of this odd moment as he tries to memorize the ink on her skin. Sam focuses on her breathing and the slight shifts in his posture, and she wonders if he’s able to find what he’s looking for, on the ink that’s been on her skin since her birth.

Some call soul marks a gift, and some call them a curse—in this moment, it feels like a weight, but she can’t tell if it’s grounding her or drowning her.

“Do you... like them? It?” Josh eventually asks, breaking both the silence and the weird spell.

“No,” Sam says bluntly, and she twists around to look at him.

“I mean, I don’t hate them, but it’s just, weird. You know? To have your ‘fate’ or whatever set in stone when you’re born. Just because someone’s your soulmate doesn’t mean it’ll work out, or that everything’s all sunshine and rainbows when you find them. And with words like mine, who knows if I’ll ever meet them? Or maybe I’ve already met them, and we just don’t know. I think it makes people less likely to take risks, because they’re so focused on ‘the one’ that they miss the opportunity in front of them.” Sam finishes her rant abruptly, all the pressure that’s been building up in her suddenly gone, and she feels deflated and slightly empty.

Josh looks contemplative, but not offended, and Sam’s glad. She’s aware that she can be a little blunt, and definitely quirky, but Josh seems to have taken it in stride. She’s inexplicably relieved, a weight taken off her shoulders.

 

* * *

 

Any weight that’s been taken off Sam’s shoulders has been added to Josh as he stands in front of his neighbor’s washing machine, dumping his dark clothes inside. The words tattooed on his back burn like a guilty brand, the lie ‘ _I don’t have a soulmate_ ’ wrapped around him, strangling him. It’s not right; that lie was supposed to be a _shield_ , a _wall_ , but it’s crumbling down and crushing him.

He knew all hope was lost when he caught sight of his own messy scrawl inked delicately across the back of her neck, his heart simultaneously soaring and plummeting at his unmistakable handwriting. He didn’t _want_ a soulmate, didn’t _need_ a soulmate—he could barely take care of himself, how was he expected to function with a whole ‘nother person?

But she lives across the hall, and her phone number is still hanging of his fridge, the sticky note smiley face taped next to it. She has stupidly cute reading glasses and wears big shirts and tight leggings, and he can remember when she stood in his apartment in an overly large shirt and nothing else, holding her ground with her shapely legs and a bloody baseball bat; face defiant even with the massive bruise blooming on her cheek.

 _Fuck,_ he’s in deep _._

But the slimy voice inside his mind caresses him with taunting words: _What soulmate would want someone as fucked up as you? You’re doing her a favor, she deserves better, she deserves someone who’s a vegan and can actually sleep at night without nightmares, someone who’ll fight off home-invaders_.

But obviously, he’s a masochist, so even though he’s managed to avoid her all week (even though every night, he see’s her trudging down the hallway through his door’s peephole, heels dangling from her hand and her hair in various states of dishevelment, and each day the bags under her eyes grow more pronounced), when his washing machine fucked up and his eyes land on that _stupid_ smiley face on the fridge, he crosses the hall, laundry bag dragging behind him. And when she opens the door, beautiful despite her obvious exhaustion and the reading glasses perched lopsidedly on her nose, he realizes— _Fuck,_ he’s a goner.

And when she gives that speil about soulmates, Josh can’t help the hope that floods his chest, foreign and intoxicating. At that point, he knows he can’t avoid her any longer, drawn into her gravitational pull and her boldness.

Josh leaps off the metaphorical cliff—he’ll give in to her gravitational pull, give in to her sweet smiles and dinner invitations; he’ll stop smothering himself and let himself breathe her in and soak up some of her sunshine.

He’s too tangled in his demons and doubts that he doesn’t hear her come up behind him, tapping his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Sam may be exhausted, but she can’t resist a little payback. When it’s obvious Josh has gotten lost in his thoughts halfway through loading the washing machine, she sneaks up behind him and taps his shoulder. He lets out a string of expletives that would make Mike proud, and she tries to look apologetic when he whirls around to glare at her.

He straightens his back and does his best to tower over her menacingly, but at five-foot-nothing  and used to being shorter than everyone, it has little effect on her.

She points at the half-empty washing machine. “You should probably finish your laundry or you’ll be here all night,” Sam suggests, and she sees his cheeks color slightly as he runs one hand through the top of his hair.

But instead of stammering like she expects, there’s an unexpectedly devious glint in his eye, and his shoulders are squared like he’s just made a life-altering decision, and he says—

“Is that an invitation? ‘Cause I can show you a real good time.” His grin is cocky and his delivery is slightly off, but she’s stunned enough that she flushes, heart skipping a beat. _What happened to awkward, quiet Josh? Is this the real Josh?_ and then— _I think I’ve made a grave mistake._

They stand like that, Sam craning her neck to look at him, and Josh smirking down at her even though she can see his cheeks turning red too.

She has a deeply suspicious feeling that something important just happen, some line has just been crossed; whatever hangup Josh had with her has dissolved and his stiffness with her has dissolved—and she feels wildly unbalanced.

Something’s changed, and Sam can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but it makes the back of her neck tingle.

_I know you've got to feel the change_

_It just gets worse when it stays the same_

_How can one of us still feel blessed when the other one's so lost_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL THE LOVE to my beta and roommate [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas) for being amazing, and a big thanks to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for being a nerd and staying up with me all night at work, and generally being a cutie. Pls read her stories, she's jossam queen.
> 
> Thank y'all so much for reviewing and commenting!!! It really helps inspire me to keep writing (especially October is a super busy month for me, and it's hard to fit time in. Good thing I wrote ahead over fall break! I just started chapter ten. This story is gonna BE LONG AF)
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Truth Or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is [Truth Or Dare](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M65xxk0FYhA). Also, Marianas Trench's new album "Astoria" came out, which is probably going to provide the chapter titles once I've finished the "Ever After" album.

_We’re not going to slow you down, we’re not gonna hold you to it_

_I guess it depends, in the end_

_After all we're all friends here_

Melanie walks out of the courthouse with a saunter and a saucy toss of her brown hair.

In another life, Sam thinks, Melanie could have been her ‘ _Hello?’_ —tall, confident, sinful lips—and Sam has to forcefully remind herself that she shouldn’t think about her coworker like that. Anyway, Melanie has two beautiful soulmates with funny, interesting words because she’s _so_ _goddamn lucky_.

Secretly, Sam blames Josh for throwing her off-kilter last night, because she’s been off all day. Ashley had noticed— _Sam, you look exhausted, were you up all night marathoning Scrubs? I told you that was a bad idea, even though it’s funny it still gives you feelings—_ and had ended up tagging along with Melanie and Sam to the courthouse today— _Sam, I’m going with you because you look like you’re going to fall over, and then you’ll add to your bruise collection. You’ll thank me later._

“We won!”

Ashley and Sam, who had been waiting outside with cups of coffee, high five. Sam’s still slightly bitter she couldn’t go into court— _Yes, I know it’s supposed to be your first time attending, Kamkin, but you look like the victim of a domestic violence case, and the judge isn’t gonna like that_ —but Ashley ended up splurging on fancy coffee from across the street to get Sam to smile.

“So, Kamkin,” Melanie says, with a grin that can only mean trouble. “What’s got you looking like the walking dead?”

_Oh, fuck._

“Just a late night doing laundry and writing _your_ case, Mel,” Sam evades skillfully. Unfortunately, Melanie’s not buying it, and Sam’s honestly not surprised. Melanie’s a lawyer—an amazing one, at that—and if she can’t smell a lie of omission, then something’s wrong.

Sam manages to last thirty seconds against Melanie, and then she admits that _kind of, maybe, sorta, the hot weird neighbor was over at her place doing laundry late last night, and they ended up watching the second half of Air Bud on T.V._

Ashley lets out a scandalized gasp. “But you _hate_ Air Bud!”

“He’s a film critic! He dissected the movie so perfectly that I wanted to propose then and there!”

“ _Samantha!_ ” Melanie hisses. “I cannot believe you have a hot, weird neighbor and didn’t tell me!”

“We got off on the wrong foot, I thought he hated me until yesterday, and suddenly he’s just! All fake-flirty and ripping apart movies I hate! It’s throwing me for a loop,” she confesses, and Ashley nods sagely like suddenly she’s an expert on relationships and boys.

Melanie grabs Sam’s shoulders dramatically. “Oh my god, Sam, is he your ‘ _Hello?’_ ”

“No. He doesn’t have a soulmate.”

Ashley scrunches up her eyes, and for a moment, Sam wishes Ashley isn’t so smart when it comes to puzzles and missing pieces: “If you barely know him, how do you know he doesn’t have any words?”

“Because I was the dumb asshole who asked him. I mean, he did greet me with a ‘ _Hello?’_ while I was high off adrenaline, and I asked him, but he pretty much shut down on me. That’s why I thought he hated me!”

Melanie and Ashley both launch into overlapping speeches, and Sam’s so tired and overwhelmed that she only catches bits and pieces of their rants. She knows she hears an _‘Oh my god, Sam, you can’t just ask about a soul mark like that,’_ and _‘Oh my god, did you want your weird hot neighbor to be your soulmate?’_

“ _Enough,_ guys. Let’s drop it and finish up stuff at the office so I can go collapse on my bed, okay?”

Melanie gives up, but Ash taps her shoulder gently and tells her in a low voice, “Sam, you can’t hide after one bad breakup. I know I never met her, but I’ve literally never seen you go on a date since. So maybe this could be a chance to move forward?”

Sam doesn’t respond, and Ashley drops the subject with a sigh.

Sam’s thrilled that she makes it back to her apartment before five, and she barely manages to get out of her business formal attire before she’s collapsing into her bed, telling herself that she’ll change into pajamas in five minutes.

She doesn’t though, falling asleep in her fancy underwear— _Oh my god, Sam, when you go to court you have to wear fancy underwear under your pants suit. It makes you feel powerful, just_ trust _me on this_ —and Sam’s only awakened by the harsh buzzing noise her phone makes, vibrating against the cheap pressboard of her nightstand.

Fumbling, she searches for it blindly, barely having time to to press the answer button before it hits voicemail.

“Hmmm?” she manages to say, and whoever’s on the other line doesn’t say anything for a moment. _Who would be calling me?_

“Mike?” she grumbles blearily. “Is this you? I told you, I’ll be there tomorrow, bright and early, but _let me sleep_.”

“I’m not sure who Mike is, but I’m not him. It’s Josh,”

Sitting up, Sam rubs her eyes, and glances at her alarm clock. It’s only 9:06 PM, and she hopes she hasn’t fucked up her sleep schedule too badly.

“Aren’t you the one who said you didn’t need my phone number, ‘cause I’m right across the hall?” Sam asks him, voice rough with sleep.

“Ha, ha. I knocked on your door, but you didn’t answer.”

“I literally passed out as soon as I got home, sorry.”

There’s a bit of silence over the phone now, and she fights to stay awake. Sam’s glad he called, though—it means he didn’t throw away her number, and also she can make sure she sets an alarm for tomorrow morning. She promised to go climbing with Mike tomorrow, and her phone would definitely be dead in the morning. Mike would be pissed if she bailed.

“I mean, do you wanna get some takeout?”

God, she wants to say yes. _Badly_ —and that’s what surprises her most. But she has plans early in the morning, and Sam knows if she goes over there she’ll end up lingering as long as she can, and deep down, she’s a little bit scared—a familiar face appears in her head, and she shoves it away— _god, not now._

“I’ve actually got to get up like super early tomorrow,” Sam says apologetically, the words sour in her mouth. “Can we raincheck? Tomorrow night, maybe?”

“Sure, I guess,” and she can’t read his tone over the phone, and Sam regrets her decision, but swallows her apologies. She hasn’t seen Mike in ages, and last time she bailed because of a surprise case, and he would be disappointed if she bailed again. Mike already thinks she’s avoiding him and her other friends because of everyone pairing up in neat little dyads as they find their soulmates, and her own past heartbreak—and deep down, he’s right.

Sam mumbles a goodbye into her phone and plugs it into the charger, guilt twisting her stomach. _Fuck_ , she was supposed to be brave, but here she is, avoiding her neighbor that makes her feel weird things. She shoves the guilt aside as she showers and studies her soul mark, the routine so deeply ingrained in her that even if she wanted to stop, she couldn’t.

Her alarm scares the shit out of her the next morning, bolting upright as any fragments of her nightmare she might remember slips from her grasp. Mechanically, she gets ready, and when someone knocks on her door, she briefly hopes it might be Josh.

But it’s Mike, dressed in climbing gear like her, as he sweeps her up into a hug.

“Sam!”

“Put me down, you jerk.”

“ _I’m the jerk?_ That’s rich coming from the girl who’s been avoiding us!” His tone is teasing, but Sam can still hear the slight reproach in his voice.

“Work’s been busy,” Sam says lamely, her excuse flimsy, and he knows it.

Mike lets it drop, smooth as ever. She knows it won’t be the last of that conversation, but then he’s frowning at her, gripping her chin and turning her face.

The bruise has mostly faded, yellow with spots of green, and she hastily gives him the abbreviated version of events from last Sunday night. Mike’s frown grows, but he looks weirdly proud when Sam tells him that she beat the thief with the bat he gave her.

They end up going to the new, huge climbing gym across town. Sam can only hope that the exercise will clear her head, and it does. They warm up on a few easy courses before tackling the one of the more difficult walls. She relishes the burning in her muscles as she and Mike race to the top, up until she makes a rookie mistake, a poorly placed hand as she sacrifices care for speed.

Her wrist twinges in pain, but she grits her teeth and powers through it. She beats Mike even, though just barely; enough that she has to grudgingly acknowledge his improvement.

“Next time, Kamkin, I’ll win!” Mike promises as they begin the climb down.

The pain in Sam’s wrist is starting to catch up to her, and any reply dies on her lips, a grimace working its way onto her face. By the time they make it down, it’s already begun to swell slightly.

Mike frowns at her. “Sam, you can’t climb when you’re not paying attention,” he scolds, and _now_ she feels like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.

“When did you become such the mother hen?” Sam asks, flippant.

“When you apparently gave up the position to be reckless, Samantha.”

“ _Michael._ ”

Their climbing day effectively cut short by her injury, Mike takes her to the the pharmacy to buy a brace, since she refuses to go to urgent care.

“Sam, I’m worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be. My wrist will heal in no time.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?” she challenges, even though she has a sneaking suspicion that she knows _exactly_ what this is about.

“You’re avoiding us, and you’re avoiding the world. Just ‘cause you got your heart broken by one girl doesn’t mean that you should just stop looking,” Mike tells her, and she stares at the road to avoid his gaze.

He continues, undeterred, “I don’t care that you have the, and I quote, ‘ _shittiest soul mark ever, which means I have the shittiest soulmate ever_ ’, unquote. You’re hiding from everyone, and that’s not like the girl I knew in college that took chances like it was her middle name and encouraged us to do the same.”

Sam doesn’t know if she wants to protest, to cry, or to jump out of this moving vehicle, so she doesn’t do any of that. Instead, she says, “I know, okay? I’m sorry. I just feel like you guys are judging me, and sometimes I think this whole soulmate stuff is garbage, and the social norms it pushes on people are ridiculous. And now that Matt’s finally met his soulmate—honestly, I’ve met Emily and I’m surprised that they’re soulmates, but I think they’ll be good for each other—I just feel... out of place? And I know you guys don’t do it on purpose, but sometimes I just chafe under all these expectations,” Sam finishes lamely, but Mike doesn’t respond right away. She can see his jaw working as he thinks through what she’s saying.

“Okay, I get it.”

Well, that’s not what she expected. _At all._ She expected lectures, life lessons—Mike’s acting out of character, off script, and she wonders if Jess has been more successful than she thought in shoving him off his proverbial high horse.

“Sometimes I forget that not everyone has soulmates, or remarkable words, and I’m sorry if we made you feel pressured to find yours. Or even get with your soulmate at all. I know your parents aren’t soulmates, but soulmates are just so common that I forget that, sometimes. _But_ ,” he continues, and she braces herself for the lecture; she’s not disappointed—“That doesn’t mean you should start avoiding us. You’re _Sam Kamkin_. You’re diligent, considerate, adventurous—and just ‘cause you fell for a girl with a different soulmate doesn’t mean you can just shut out the world. _Or,_ do stupidly reckless things like fucking up your wrist while climbing.” He glares at her swollen wrist, and she gulps.

“It’s not that bad,” Sam protests, and though Mike looks doubtful, he doesn’t say anything else. It’s only one in the afternoon by the time he drops her off back at her apartment, and he leaves with with a promise to ice her wrist and be more careful.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he tells her as a goodbye, and she hopes her promises sound like the truth.

After showering and icing her wrist for a while, Sam still can’t get Mike’s words out of her head. ‘ _You can’t shut out the world,_ ’ he’d told her. She wonders when she lost her bravery, her nerve—even though she knows the answer. Sam tries to push her face out of her mind, the memory of the soft whisper of ‘ _I’m sorry Sam, but I met my real soulmate, and I have to break up with you’_ rising up and choking her.

_Goddammit, I refuse to mope around this apartment all day, I’ve moved on from being mopey Sam!_ She tells herself. _No more being a coward and avoiding weird hot neighbors who make you feel things._

Sometimes, her inner voice sounds a lot like a mix between Melanie and Mike. Sam shudders. _I hope they never meet_ , she thinks. _What a tag team they’d be._

Pulling out her phone, she saves Josh’s phone number from where he called her last night as _Josh Neighbor_ , and pulls up a new message, cursor blinking cheerfully at her.

_Wanna hang?_ is too casual, and _I’m sorry_ opens a can of worms she’s not quite ready to deal with, so what she ends up sending is:

_Sammy [2:04 PM]: Can I call in that rain check on takeout? I just got home and I’m ravenous. My friend says there’s a new Mediterranean place close by that does delivery._

_Josh Neighbor [2:05 PM]: Sure, but ur buying_

_Give in to the slow descent_

_Give in to the trust to feel it_

_Give in to the pull and the push and the forth and back_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Mike appears! Character development! Air Bud hate!
> 
> Thanks to my beta and roommate, who edits even when she's super busy, [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas) for being amazing, and a big thanks to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for encouraging me like a boss.
> 
> Thank y'all so much for reviewing and commenting!!! It really helps inspire me to keep writing, especially during hellmonth (October).
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Desperate Measures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is [Desperate Measures](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGrkYSQsOM4), which is definitely my favorite song off the album next to Ever After...Enjoy (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

_For a first effort this,_

_Feels kinda last ditch_

_I guess this just got kinda drastic_

Josh frowns at her braced wrist. “Are you usually this injury prone, or is this just a bad week?”

Though his tone is dry, his back is stiff, and Sam has to wonder if she’s not forgiven yet for the ‘ _no’_ she gave him last night.

“Just a bad week and worse luck,” Sam explains, pulling out her last two twenties from her wallet as she pays and tips the delivery driver, grabbing the bag with her good hand.

Josh is looking slightly more well-rested than the last time she saw him, which makes her frown.

“Do you ever sleep, like, at all?”

“I’m too busy spending my nights in more _interesting_ ways,” Josh says then, emphasizing the word suggestively, and she clutches the bagged food to her chest, using humor to hide her relief at his apparent forgiveness.

“No Mediteranean food for ungrateful man-sluts,” she tells him.

“Oh, my apologies, Sammy, but I didn’t take you for a slut shamer,” he wiggles his eyebrows, reaching out one hand for the bag, and she smacks it away.

“I just frown on talking about sex before eating,” she says as she swerves around him and sets the bag down on his small kitchen table. They fall into silence, and Sam wonders if it’s a pattern. Sometimes, the silence is comfortable, but now it’s filled with the words she hasn’t said.

“I’m sorry for bailing last night,” and she could’ve ended that there, but in the back of her mind she can hear Mike shouting ‘ _Open communication, Samantha!’_ and sometimes she hates that he took that stupid social psych course with her. “I was a little off balance on account of sleep deprivation, and I thought you hated me after I went and put my foot in my mouth, multiple times? Then suddenly things were different, and I’m a wimp.”

Josh blinks, and she wonders if he’ll make a joke, or throw her out of the apartment, or just pretend she didn’t say anything.

“Okay,” he says simply, and Sam can see that this time, _he’s_ the one off balance and thrown for a loop.

_That means he cares, right?_

Josh looks like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t, and they work in silence as they unbox the food, but this time, it’s comfortable, it’s easy, and Sam feels lighter.

They end up watching Van Helsing, Josh morbidly offended that she’s never seen it before— _You’ve seen Air Bud, but you haven’t seen Van Helsing? Sammy, I’ve never been more hurt in my life_ —and he spouts off random facts about the production of the movie. She’s convinced he was there, behind the scenes, because there’s no way that one person knows so much obscure trivia. Does it matter what kind of makeup they used to cover Hugh Jackman's soul mark— _Of course it does, Sammy, it's vital that Van Helsing doesn't have a soulmate._

“I cannot believe they fridged the girl who’s obviously just as competent as he is!” Sam cries out, angrily gesturing to the T.V. screen as Hugh Jackman lights a funeral pyre. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with people!”

This, of course, sparks a debate about the use of manpain to motivate male protagonists. Josh thinks it can be occasionally useful, Sam thinks the trope’s been beaten to the ground and is essentially useless at this point.

By the time the credits finish rolling and the dvd menu is back on screen, Sam’s forgotten about the pain in her wrist and her earlier faux pas.

 _I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,_ Sam thinks.

 

* * *

 

Josh is royally fucked. He had finally, finally gotten the balls to call Sam, and he was weirdly relieved when she claimed rain check, because if her sleepy voice did _that_ to him, he was obviously _not_ ready to hang out for extended periods of time—and she was obviously put off by his weirdness and ill-timed sex jokes. _Good_ , he thinks. _She deserves better than me._

He thinks their relationship has been like a see-saw—a lot of mistakes, awkwardness, and laughs. Okay, maybe not a see-saw, but like a weird romantic comedy that Hannah would love.

Josh’s heart had skipped a beat when she thought he was Mike on the phone, his mind automatically leaping to a hot, secret boyfriend and jealousy gripping at his chest. But she doesn’t _act_ like she’s in a relationship, though the sudden appearance of a brace on her wrist kindles his protective instincts. That doesn’t mean he’s thinking about her like a sister; no, he’s thinking about her like a _soulmate_ —and it’s freaking him out. Beth would be cackling at him like this, Hannah would be cooing, but both of them would be _wrong._

He’s fucked up, and Sam deserves better.

 _Can’t you see, bro, that she’s a little fucked up, too?_ Beth’s voice whispers in his mind, and he can’t deny it. He does wonder if Sam notices the little ways she reacts to things—her nails bite into her palms whenever one passionate exclamation of ‘ _We’re soulmates!’_ or another happens during a movie, and her brow furrows deeply when soul marks are bared.

 _She obviously has baggage of her own,_ Hannah’s voice remarks, and he tries to shut them both out, and pay attention to what Sam’s saying.

“—and then, I slipped, and it was a stupid rookie mistake but I really wanted to beat Mike, and _that’s_ how I sprained my wrist,” Sam finishes, then looks at him expectantly for a response. _Shit_ , he’s in trouble.

“You sprained your wrist so you could win against someone?” Josh finally asks.

“Not just _someone_ , but Mike, who’s like, my eternal athletic rival. I’ve been rock climbing for _years_ and he gets the nerve to start last year and suddenly be so good at it! I think he’s just trying to make up for the fact that Jess had a crush on me before she met him, and he _hates_ being second.”

“Jess is his soulmate?”

“Yeah, and she’s too good for him—though Mike does worship the ground she walks on, so at least he’s doing his best.” Sam shrugs, chasing the remains of her dinner out of the container with a plastic fork.

“They met playing baseball, because they both play on the same rec team. He accidentally hit her with the ball, and his first words to her were ‘ _I’m sorry’_ and she just snapped at him, ‘ _What the fuck, asshole!’_ She felt really bad afterwards, because that’s a pretty rough soulmark to have, you know? But ‘ _I’m sorry’_ is pretty common to hear, so she had absolutely no idea that he was her soulmate!”

Josh feels like he could run a marathon; athletic Mike is happily in a monogamous relationship with not-Sam. He resists the urge to punch the air, because that’s just a step too far, but Sam notes his shift in attitude with a raised eyebrow—thankfully, she doesn’t comment.

“So, I honestly have to ask: do you ever leave your apartment?” Sam says out of the blue, and Josh chokes on the bite of his kabob.

“Yes! I mean, I would eventually starve to death if I didn’t. So yes, I do leave my apartment. I am gainfully employed, Sammy,” Josh retorts with a mock-glare, and Sam shrugs.

“Just curious! You look like a man who’s never seen the sunlight, so I was wondering if you were a vampire. Like the ones in Twilight.”

Josh groans. “Don’t even get me started about Twilight and those stupid, sparkly vampires.”

Sam, of course, disobeys him and says, “What? I love Edward Cullen _._ Nothing says _romance_ like stalking and abusive behavior!”

He rises to the bait and launches into a whole spiel about how Twilight ruined everything, despite the fact that Beth secretly loves the series as a guilty pleasure. He’s halfway through his speech when he notices the twinkling in her stupidly green eyes and her barely suppressed mirth.

 

* * *

 

Sam wonders how someone with siblings could rise so easily to her bait, so she waits for him to pause for a breath and innocently comments, “You know, you look like that one vampire from the last movie, has anyone ever told you that?”

Josh launches into a brand new tirade, and Sam takes a sip of water to hide her smile.

The following week is a breeze compared the previous one, and Sam delights in getting more than three hours of sleep in a night, and she’s out of her brace by Wednesday. She texts Mike a picture of her newly healed wrist with the caption “All better!” and he replies with a smiley face. She stops by Josh’s apartment after work to show him her healed wrist, but when he opens the door the smile drops off her face.

To put it plainly, he looks _exhausted_ , like he hasn’t gotten any sleep in years, with purpling shadows framing his eyes, like he got sucker-punched in both eyes.

“You look terrible,” Sam blurts out, and he frowns down at her. “I mean, you look really fucking tired,” she amends, and internally winces. That’s not much better, and she can hear her mother chiding her in the back of her mind.

“Having trouble sleeping,” Josh grunts, but he lets her in anyways. He putters around as she sprawls on his couch, but the after the third time he runs into the table she lets out a sigh.

“Josh. Come here.” Sam says, patting the couch next to her, and he complies without complaint or a lewd comment, which is a testament to his exhaustion.

“Lay down.”

He raises an eyebrow.

Sam tries to fight her blush, and avoids his eyes by staring at the ceiling. “Look, it’s what my mom did to help me fall asleep after nightmares. Josh shrugs, and stretches out, head in her lap.

Sam gently starts running her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. “Okay, now just tell me your favorite childhood memory. Anything that comes to mind,” she prompts him.

His eyes are closed, half asleep already, but he listens to her. Josh starts to tell her about the time he got lost in the woods with his twin sisters, and how just at the point where he thought he’d have to start hunting for food they got found. Sam’s honestly surprised he makes it almost to the end of the story, words slurring sleepily as he talks about how Hannah and Beth had clung to him.

Josh falls asleep halfway through his ending, his breathing even and face relaxed, though she keeps running her fingers through his hair. At this point, she just enjoys the feeling of the soft strands, and how the hair on the top is longer and softer than the buzzed hair on the side of his heads. She’d never been crazy about that hairstyle, but it suits him more than she cares to admit.

Sam listens to his quiet breathing as she thinks about soulmates and missing soulmarks and how her parents are still stupidly in love after 27 years despite the prevailing norm that ‘ _if they’re not your soulmate, they’re not worth it.’_ Maybe she was joking when she told Ashley she wanted to propose after he completely ripped apart Air Bud, but part of her can’t forget the passion in his voice and the light in his eyes when he took it apart, scene by scene.

Her hands wander, and she traces the line of his jaw and the curve of his eyebrows. Josh looks younger when he’s sleeping, and he looks happier. Sam wonders why he hasn’t been sleeping lately, but she’s glad he’s finally found some rest. In between one thought and the next, she drops off, feeling all too peaceful and warm.

Sam’s not to sure how long she dozed for, but she wakes with her stomach abnormally warm. At some point, Josh had turned on his side, wrapping one arm around her waist and pressing his face against her stomach, the warm puffs of his breaths tickling her stomach through the thin fabric of her shirt.

Slowly, carefully, she manages to extricate herself, though when she first moved his arm instinctively tightened around her. Locating a sticky note, she writes him a quick note.

_Get some sleep, but I had to go grocery shopping! :) —Sam_

Sam sticks it on his forehead, and takes it as a testament of how tired he is that he doesn’t even flinch.

 

* * *

 

Josh wakes up with a start, cold and alone and with something stuck to his forehead. After closer inspection, he realizes that Sam stuck a sticky note to his forehead. He’s almost ashamed he didn’t wake up, after all, he’s typically a light sleeper. Josh hopes he didn’t drool in her lap, but he’s honestly feeling more refreshed than he has in months.

Though he blushes at the thought of sleeping for hours on her lap, Josh wishes that moment could’ve lasted forever—Sam threading her fingers through his hair as he sleepily tells her stories of happier times. The moment was blissful, domestic—and it leaves him wanting more.

 _Ah, fuck_.

Josh feels like he’s known her all his life; and that he barely knows her at all. He already loves the way her nose crinkles when he says something particularly outrageous, and the deliberate way she moves, no movement wasted. A part of him wants to spend the rest of his life getting to know her—and that’s when he knows that he’s deeply, truly fucked.

 

* * *

 

They hang out sporadically—originally, it was whenever Sam was too tired to cook, but she comes up with more and more elaborate excuses to knock on his door and cheekily ask ‘ _Takeout?_ ’ It’s always his apartment, and when he brings it up, she says, ‘ _Your couch is comfier, and your T.V. is better for tearing apart movies in HD._ ’

They talk about his job as a film critic— _It’s easy, really, all I do is show up at movies, and write up a piece about it_ —her incredulity that the job can’t be that easy— _seriously? And that’s enough to afford an apartment in L.A., even one as shitty as this one?_ —and their various hobbies—‘ _I’m pretty good at tennis, you know’_ he says, and she replies, _‘Well, I’ve always been more of a ping-pong gal. Though I also rock climb and run.’ ‘God, a vegan and a fitness nut. What kind of neighbor are you!’_

The more frequently Sam makes it over to the apartment, the more she notices the little touches—he moves his water glasses down a shelf, so she doesn’t have to climb up on top of the counter, and the dirty laundry that littered the hallway floor is now stuffed in a brand new hamper. He keeps soy milk in the fridge for her, but Sam never brings it up—even though she makes a point to ruffle his hair or kiss his cheek in a silent ‘ _Thank you_.’

There’s one line they haven’t crossed—Sam has, honest to god, never seen him leave his apartment. _‘I leave for movie showings, you just never see me leave!_ ’ he protests, but fidgeting of his hands and his inability to meet her eyes belies that.  Sam doesn’t push the issue, and instead reaches over him for the remote control. ‘ _We’re watching the animal channel,’_ she announces, and he replies with a good-natured groan. ‘ _Whatever you say, Sammy._ ’

_When I got you right where I want you_

_I been pushing for this for so long_

_Kiss me, just once, for luck_

_These are desperate measures now_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Feeeeeelings_ are beginning to develop. Whoops.
> 
> I realized I never put fun author's notes, cause I'm boring. I referenced Rami's appearance (briefly) in Breaking Dawn (is that the last book? I think? Idk) because I can't help but make fun of Twilight.
> 
> Thanks to my beta and roommate, [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas) for being amazing, and a big thanks to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for calling me a nerd alot.
> 
> Thank y'all so much for reviewing and commenting!!! I try to respond to all comments and I love every time I get one. They mean so much to me!!
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Porcelain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is [Porcelain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJol7EsWHmI), and we're halfway through the album at this point! (Not halfway through the fic, though).

_You thought by now_

_You'd have it figured out_

_You can't erase the way it pulls_

_When seasons change_

“Ash, please tell my why I had to come with you to Best Buy on our lunch break. I think you can handle buying a new camera on your own,” Sam complains half-heartedly as they browse the aisle.

“Because you love me,” Ashley says, hip-checking her cheerfully. “And I came with you to buy a new lock for your door, so you owe me.”

“You insisted that I buy a new lock!”

“Well, I also insist that I need a better camera. So here we are.”

Sam rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest any further. To be honest, she loves how passionate Ashley is about photography, and listening to her talk excitedly about ISO and framing and focal points.

She picks up a camera to inspect it, pressing a few buttons with little enthusiasm as Ashley weighs the pros and cons of a Nikon versus a Canon camera out loud.

Sam snaps a picture of Ashley as she’s babbling, and she squints at the flash.

“A picture’s worth a thousand words,” Sam suggests.

“I wasn’t talking _that_ much,” Ashley complains.

Sam hears a familiar voice behind her: “Ask her out, cochise! It’s worth a shot!”

Whirling around, she see’s Josh and an unfamiliar blonde guy with glasses perusing the aisle.

“Josh!” Sam calls out, waving at him, and he blinks at her before a smile breaks out on his face. Ashley glances back and forth between Sam and Josh, and her eyes narrow.

“Sam!” She whispers loudly. “Is that _weird hot neighbor?_ ” Sam winces as Ashley’s failed attempt at whispering reaches Josh’s ears. He blushes slightly.

“ _Weird neighbor_?”

The blonde finally speaks, elbowing Josh. “Geez, bro, you need to _focus_ more on the positive part, which was that you’re hot! Get it?” When Josh fails to laugh, he lets out a sigh. “It was a camera pun, bro. Focus? Like a camera? My humor is lost on you,” he wails dramatically, before turning to address Sam and Ashley.

“Forgive me for my dad-jokes and puns,” he says to them, giving a mock bow.

Ashley and Sam stand there, frozen in shock as his words process through their brains. Sam grabs Ashley’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” Is all Ashley manages to say, and Sam resists the urge to sigh. Poor guy, with the soul mark of ‘ _Holy shit! Holy shit!’_ tattooed somewhere on his body. His parents must’ve been worried.

“Soulmate?” he asks weakly, his eyes wide, a smile beginning to creep up on his face.

Ashley doesn’t answer, instead she launches herself towards him, arms outstretched. He barely catches her, and they hug tightly—like soulmates meeting for the first time.

Sam is awash with emotions—joy, love, excitement—but the tang of bitterness sours her mouth. _I can’t believe you’re making this about you_ , she thinks angrily to herself. _Be happy for them._

Josh is grinning, but she can see the bitterness in his eyes too—he’s without a soulmate, ever, and guilt twists her stomach.

When Ashley and her soulmate finally part, Josh slaps his friend on the back. “I’m proud of you, cochise!” and the friend blushes.

“I’m Ashley,” she says shyly. “And I’m really, really sorry about your soul mark.”

“I’m Chris,” he introduces himself. “And honestly, I thought my words were terrible until I met Josh, his [words](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WgKubW5Z0o) honestly take the cake,” Chris chuckles.

Her stomach drops.

_His words? But he doesn’t have any words, he told me, he told me—he[lied](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLVcXphOVZo)._

Mechanically, Sam turns on her heel and leaves without another word.

Josh doesn’t stop her.

 

* * *

 

An hour and a half later, Sam finds herself parking her car in the lot of Runyon Canyon Park, in running gear. She’ll use one of the harder trails, and she keeps her mind carefully blank as she deliberately leaves her phone in the car, only taking her iPod and a water bottle.

She knows she’ll feel bad later, for hightailing it out of there when Ashley had just meet her soulmate, but her mind is jumbled and she needed to clear her head.

Forgoing stretching, Sam begins her run, the trail relatively quiet at this time of day. She’ll apologize to Melanie and the others later, for ditching work, but she needs to outrun the thoughts chasing her.

_Why did he lie?_

What honest to god, compelling reason did he have to lie? How could he not just, up front, tell her, ‘ _I’m not your soulmate?’_ Did he want to fuck with her? Did he panic? But god, if there was one thing that could kill any relationship—she tries not to think about any budding feelings she had for him, nipped at the stem, to weak to survive this kind of betrayal—it was deception, it was lies.

Sam runs faster, breathing labored and a soundless beat thrumming from her headphones.

She wants to kick his ass. She wants to kick his fucking door down, and dress him down five ways to Sunday. She wants to pretend she doesn’t know him, and never talk to him again. She wants to call Mike and have him beat Josh up. She wants to call Jess talk shit about him. She wants a carton of sherbert.

Sam wants a lot of things, but mostly, she wants to know _why._

But for now, she relishes the burn in her lungs and the ache in her legs. She relishes the sweat she can feel dripping down her neck. By the time she makes it back to her car, Sam has three missed and ten text messages.

She calls Ashley back first.

“Sam? Oh thank god. You just left, and I had no idea!” Ashley exclaims as soon as she picks up the phone.

“I’m sorry, it was just. That was weird hot neighbor, who very explicitly told me he did not have a soulmate, and let me believe that. I was just kind of... taken aback,” Sam says, sitting in her car with the door open as she waits for the air conditioning to kick on.

“I understand,” she says sympathetically.

“But more importantly,” Sam says, pitching her voice in a piss-poor imitation of cheerfulness. “Your soulmate! He’s nice! And nerdy! And very, very tall.”

Ashley launches into an excited explanation, telling Sam how they had gone out for lunch after that, and how Chris was a little bit shy but he loved Star Wars as much as she did, and could imitate Yoda with the best of them.

“I’m glad,” Sam says honestly, and it’s the most sincere thing she’s said all day. “I’m really happy for you, Ash. _You deserve this_.”

“Well, Sam, you don’t deserve what that weird neighbor did to you. I can’t believe someone would _lie_ about something like that?” Ashley grumbles over the phone. “Like, what the fuck?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of confused. Did, uh, Chris... mention anything about it?” she asks anxiously.

“Not really, sorry Sam. He felt bad, but also didn’t think it was his place to say anything about it.” Ash says apologetically.

 _Well, you can’t fault his friend for loyalty, even if I want to throttle him,_ Sam muses.

Sam promises that she’ll be at work tomorrow and they can chat more then. She opens up the ten text messages, most of them from Josh, even though her impulse is to delete them without reading them. Maybe he’ll apologize, maybe he’ll explain—and to be honest, her curiosity gets the best of her.

_Josh Neighbor[2:14 PM]: look Sammy i’m really sorry okay_

_Josh Neighbor[2:14 PM]: like really sorry. can i make it up to u?_

_Josh Neighbor[2:15 PM]: i’ll buy u takeout from that disgusting vegan place u like_

_Josh Neighbor[2:20 PM]: please don’t hate me_

_Josh Neighbor[2:37 PM]: ???_

Three of the other text messages were from Ashley, one was from Mike, and one was from Jess. Honestly, she dreads going back to her apartment, afraid that Josh will corner her and try to excuse his actions. His texts were only poor platitudes with flimsy apologies and no explanations, and they only serve to piss her off more.

Sam’s finger hovers over Mike’s name. She’s tempted to call him; after all, they’ve been best friends for years, and he comforted her during her last breakup, which was far more dramatic than this. But she’s not sad, she’s _angry_.

She calls Jess.

“Sam?” Jess says, answering halfway through the fourth ring.

She’s inexplicably nervous—she hasn’t talked to Jess in a while, and it’s her fault, she’d been avoiding talking to her after her breakup with her last girlfriend, Claire Bennet. Deep down, Sam knows it’s because Jess would’ve kicked her ass for moping around as long as she had.

Sam only makes it two sentences into her explanation before Jess interrupts her. “Can you meet me at my apartment? I’ll have mango sherbert by the time you get here.”

“You’re the best,” Sam exhales, relieved.

Thirty minutes later, she’s parking in the guest spot of Jess’s apartment complex, and decides to climb the stairs and ditch the elevator. Eleven stories later, legs burning from the stairs and her previous run, Sam regrets her decision. Jess answers the door on the first knock, ushers her in and points her towards the shower.

“I ordered us dinner, too, it should be here by the time you get out. There’s some pajamas you can borrow in my room. Then, the shit-talking will commence. Get your gameface on, Samantha.” Jess orders her, and Sam meekly obeys. The light kindling in Jess’s eyes suggest that shit-talking is not all they’ll be doing—Sam silently curses Michael, who must’ve updated Jess on their mini heart-to-heart last weekend.

She showers quickly and methodically, raiding Jess’s drawers for a pair of yoga pants and one of Mike’s spare shirts. It feels good to be clean, and past the incandescent rage that had fueled her for most of the afternoon.

When she shuffles out of the room, toweling off her damp hair, the smell of delicious Mediterranean wafts towards her. Sam tries not to think of Van Helsing and his crooked smile. _I’m not some sappy, heartbroken teenager, so chin up, Kamkin!_

Jess is quiet—too quiet, as they sit together eating takeout, drinking cheap liquor, and watching Bad Girls Club play mindlessly in the background, and it’s making Sam incredibly nervous.

When Jess sets her empty takeout container down forcefully, Sam jumps at the noise, and tenses as she waits for the hammer to fall. God, what made her think this was a good idea? Jess is terrifying, in the sweetest way possible. Like a blue ringed octopus: adorable and deadly. Sam gulps.

“Alright, Samantha. I’ve plied you with yummy, delicious Mediterranean food and good alcohol, I’ve let you mope around long enough. _Let’s talk._ ”

_The slow and simple melody_

_Of tears you cannot keep from me_

_It's alright if you don't know what you need_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter makes me cry. Also, I kind of ruined the seriousness with that song, tbh, but I'm not even fucking sorry. At least part of the big reveal happened!
> 
> Thanks [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), my beta! She's amazing. 
> 
> A big thanks to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for being awesome, and also being cool with me blatantly stealing her headcanon for what Josh smells like! (Tea and mandarin)
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to this great song because you know the drill: [Fallout](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvnP6BmQvEk). Also, had to update a few tags.

_So many things_

_I shouldn't have missed_

_The more that I push_

_And the more you resist_

Jess looks at Sam expectantly, her fingers interlaced as she watches her.

“Well,” Sam begins hesitantly, “it started with a burglary gone wrong.”

For the most part, Jess remains quiet as Sam hashes out the past two weeks, from delicious takeout to film critiques; from fucking up her wrist in the climbing gym to her heart-to-heart with Mike; from Ashley meeting her soulmate to the bomb being dropped.

By the end of it, Jess is gripping her hand tightly, brows furrowed.

“First of all, _dick move,_ weird-hot-neighbor-Josh,” Jess says, frowning. “Second of all, I’m worried about your workload. I’ve seen sleep-deprived-Sam before, she makes bad decisions. In that way she’s a lot like drunk-Sam, but drunk-Sam has a lot more fun doing it. Sleep-deprived-Sam is just angry and irritable.”

“Thanks a lot, Jess. I really appreciate it,” Sam says sourly. “But, honestly, I’m not sure what to do, I can’t avoid my neighbor forever.”

“Why not?” Jess asks bluntly. “You never met him before the burglary, even though it sounds like he’s lived there for awhile. And he’s probably going to feel too ashamed to talk to you first, so just give him the cold shoulder.” She shrugs. “Can’t be that hard.”

Sam gapes at Jess. This is _not_ what she expected. Sam expected shit-talking, and for Jess to tell her to give him a piece of her mind. _Not this_.

“Or,” Jess begins, “if you do actually want to see him again, you have to talk to him. You have no idea why he lied about it—yes, it was wrong to lie, but if you want to hear him out, go for it. Just makes sure he grovels enough before you have your wicked way with him.”

“ _Jessica!_ ” Sam gasps. “What makes you think I want to have my wicked way with him? Because you’re definitely wrong.”

“Sure I am, Sam. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.”

 

* * *

 

 _I fucked up_ , Josh thinks. _No shit,_ he tells himself.

He brought it on himself—and he knows that. Even though Josh is tempted to blame Chris and his big fat mouth, Josh is the one who fucked up by lying to Sam. But at the time, he didn’t know he’d be seeing her on a regular basis, let alone start to fall for her. _Goddammit._

He relied on the expectation that, after that moment, he’d never see her again—because she deserved happiness, and he couldn’t deliver that. Not like this, not when sanity and normalcy was a daily balancing act, when some days he couldn’t get out of bed or drown out the whispers in the back of his mind.

Sam deserved better than this, and all he did was hurt her. _You fuck up even when you think you’re making the right choice_ , his mind whispers venomously. _Pathetic._

Josh stands, clutching the bathroom counter for support. He needs to take his medicine. His phone beeps at him insistently, the alarm he set on it grating against his ears. With one shaking hand, he taps a pill into the palm of his hand and ignores the compulsion to wash it down the sink.

 _If you don’t take your medicine, you’ll certainly never get better, Joshua_ , Dr. Hill’s voice tells him clinically. _And if you don’t get better, Sam will never want you either._

“Shut up,” Josh mumbles distantly, dropping his eyes to avoid his reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t want to see himself—he’s tired of the physical body he inhabits, tired of its needs and wants and limits. He wishes he could feel upset, or sad, or angry that he’s just colossally fucked up, but mostly, he’s just exhausted.

Beth would know what to say. Hannah would know what to do—but right now, his sisters are in the nicer parts of L.A., probably wondering why their older brother insists on living in this shitty, run-down apartment.

But they didn’t understand that he had to get out of that house, prove himself beyond his father’s name, and be successful on his own terms—but here he is, a crazy-fuckup with nothing going _right_ for him.

Josh isn’t sure how long he stands there, his thoughts wrapping their hands around his throat and _squeezing_.

His phone is silent: no messages, no calls, no connection to the outside world. _Alone like you deserve, Joshua. Or maybe it’s because you keep pushing people away_ , Dr. Hill says.

He wishes he was angry enough to punch the mirror, just to feel the glass splinter beneath his knuckles and watch the blood drip down his hand. Instead, he just feels resigned, a dead soul trapped in a body, wasting away behind his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Sam swirls around her rum and coke. Well, it’s mostly rum at this point, but that’s all Jess’s fault. ‘ _Measuring alcohol is for weenies,’_ she’d said with a straight face as she poured a liberal amount  into Sam’s cup.

“Jess, I can’t just give him the cold shoulder forever.” Sam sighs as she takes a sip of her drink and grimaces. The rum overpowered any other flavor, but she likes the warm feelings in her stomach and the haze around her thoughts.

“And why not? It’s not that hard to freeze a boy out. I’ve done it before,” Jess replies. She’s sprawled out on the couch, feet tucked in Sam’s lap, idly flipping channels.

“Well, I mean, I can, but honestly... I’m not sure if I want to,” Sam says slowly, her thoughts churning around in her mind. She didn’t realize until she said it, but it’s true—she _likes_ Josh. She doesn’t want to freeze him out, and lose their easy camaraderie and stupid jokes.

“There we go, we have a winner! Sam finally admits her feelings!” Jess cheers, wiggling her hands like she’s shaking invisible pompoms. Sam tickles her feet for revenge. “Hey, stop that!”

“I don’t have _feelings_ for him,” Sam protests. “I just don’t want to lose his friendship.”

“Whatever you say, Kamkin. Just... make sure you give it some time. You both need to sort things out, and you don’t have to forgive him right away,” Jess says gently. “You can be friends, and accept his apology, but he fucked up, and if you forgive him right away he’ll just think it’s okay to lie again. Good relationships—friendships or otherwise,” Jess shoots a warning look at Sam, who had been opening her mouth to protest the word ‘ _relationship_ ,’ “are built off of trust and open, honest communication.”

“You sound like a marriage counselor,” Sam grumps. Jess reaches over to pat her thigh.

“That’s because you’re finally appreciating how wise and beautiful I am.”

“Hey, if you ever get tired of Mike, I promise to treat you right.” Sam’s a little drunk, in her defense, when this slips out. But Jess only grins, and it’s slightly naughty.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sam.”

The mood in the room lightens considerably after that, and Sam can’t tell if the lightness in her chest is a product of the rum or having talked through her dilemma. _Probably the alcohol,_ she thinks as she challenges Jess to a Twister death-match. _Definitely the alcohol,_ she amends as she struggles to put her left foot on the proper green circle. But Jess is giggling, and Sam’s lost most of the anger that consumed her for the majority of the day.

When Jess and Sam collapse in a giggling pile of limbs after one misstep too many, it’s easy to feel like everything’s going to be alright; like there’s no problem that can’t be solved with liquor and girl talk.

And for the first time in a while, she feels okay, soul marks, soulmates, exes, and neighbors a distant thought. _Everything’s going to be okay_ , she thinks hazily, her mind clouded pleasantly with the liquor.

 

* * *

 

Josh lays on his couch, face buried in the pillow, trying to figure out if he can still vaguely smell Sam on the pillow or if he’s just losing his mind.

 _Probably the latter_ , he thinks. His stomach growls, and he can hear Dr. Hill tutting from the kitchen table, leaning against it with his clipboard and his pen like he’s real, instead of some fucking hallucination.

 _‘You’re almost out of medicine, Joshua,’_ he says, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. _‘You remember the last time you ran out of medicine, don’t you? We wouldn’t want a repeat of that.’_

Josh does remember what happens, very clearly. He remembers the blood spattered against the shower curtain, shaking hands and a chorus of screaming voices, all clambering for his attention as he curls up in the shower, fully clothed and water running in an unsuccessful attempt to drown out the sound. Josh remembers the burning in his arms, and how the blood and the pain wasn’t enough to muffle the thoughts in his head— _why don’t you just die, die you useless pathetic pussy, you’re a waste of space, diediediedie._

He remembers calling Beth and begging for help, and he remembers her gentle hands as she pries the blade from his hands and silently drives him to the E.R. In that way, Beth is better than Hannah—she doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t pry like Han would. But Hannah’s presence, innocent and fresh, is like a balm to his soul, but he couldn’t imagine telling his sister about this. He doesn’t want to do this to Beth again, he doesn’t want to lie to Hannah again, he doesn’t want to hurt Sam again—and it’s these thoughts that eventually pull him off the couch.

Josh is tired of this, tired of treatments that don’t work, don’t address the problem.

He can’t go to Dr. Hill, who’ll just slap a new prescription for another useless anti-depressant on the desk. Josh needs help, real help, from someone who will fucking _listen_ to the problems he describes instead of just throwing him the _poor little rich boy, depressed and ready for rehab_ look.

He needs— _he needs help_. And the card that Beth had slipped him after his third emergency room visit is still in his wallet, worn and crumpled. Josh stands at a precipice, the decision hanging in the balance, and it scares him. He doesn’t want to choose; he’s afraid of the consequences and the responsibility.

But time waits for no man, even Joshua Washington.

He chooses.

 

* * *

 

Sam regrets her decisions the next morning, headache throbbing behind her eyes, mouth dry like the Sahara, and stomach practicing acrobatics. She feels like shit, and she silently curses Jess, who _knows_ Sam’s a fucking lightweight.

Stumbling off the couch, she finds her way into the bathroom to heave up any leftover Mediterranean food in her stomach, and then grabs some aspirin from the cabinet. Sam raids Jess’s fridge for some orange juice and food, taking the medication and snacking on some leftovers she found. Jess is still asleep, but Sam needs to get back to her apartment and pace around for an hour or two before she figures out how to approach Josh.

Sam leaves a note for Jess on her kitchen counter:

_Thanks for the hangover, you jerk!! :) —Sam_

It’ll make Jess laugh, and hopefully not notice the missing leftovers in her fridge.

By the time she’s in her car, she finally checks her phone, surprised to see two missed calls from her mother. _That can’t be good_.

Sam’s stomach twists nervously, any sense of calm and assurance from the previous night dissipating within moments. Finger hovering over the contact name, Sam eventually gets the guts to press it, and her mother answers it breathlessly on the first ring.

“Samantha? I tried to call you last night,” her mother says reproachfully.

“I’m sorry, mom, I was hanging out with Jess. My phone was on silent,” Sam fibs. Her phone was most definitely not on silent, but she didn’t want to explain the finer details of her drunken night.

“That’s okay,” her mother says, and Sam tries to read into her tone, but it’s hard over her phone speaker. “How’s work going? Are the cases going well?”

“Yeah, we won our last one,” she replies cautiously. Sam knows her mother didn’t call her to make small talk about the California legal system, but she goes along with it for now. If her mom isn’t crying on the phone, it’s a good sign that no one in the family is sick or dying, so she takes what she can get.

“That’s great, sweetie! I knew you’d love being a paralegal. You’ve got the brains for it, like your father.”

“Thanks mom, I really appreciate that.” There’s a pause on the phone as her mom gathers the courage to say whatever she’s been dancing around, and she feels like they’re on the precipice of a cliff, waiting for the gavel to fall.

“Well... there’s no good way to say this, Samantha, but your father and I… we’re getting a divorce.”

Sam takes a deep breath, swallowing her childish tantrums and not-so-childish curses, and fights to maintain some level of calm.

“A divorce?”

“I met my soulmate last month, and I thought it wouldn’t lead to anything, but... it’s not working, Samantha. Soulmates exist for a reason, and your father respects that. I know it’s difficult for you to hear this, Sam-a-lamba, but—”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam interrupts. “Don’t call me that name anymore. I’m not a child.”

When her mother protests over the phone, Sam loses any measure of patience she had left and ends the call, tossing her phone on the passenger seat of her car, where it bounces and lands somewhere on the floor. Sam doesn’t care, mind too full of the echoing words ‘ _We’re getting a divorce’_ and _‘I met my soulmate’._

Twenty-seven years of marriage thrown out the window as soon as some fucking divine asshole shows up with a matching set of words. Sam barely pays any mind to the busy L.A. traffic as she mechanically drives back to her apartment, head pounding and mind spinning.

 _Twenty-seven years, gone_.

She feels like a central pillar in her foundation has vanished—her assurance that if she never meets her soulmate she can still find love rings false in her ears.

This whole fucking world is obsessed with soulmates, ruining lives and love and chances because of some tattoo that marred your skin from the day you were born. Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel, barely noticing the blaring horns behind her because she’s seconds too slow when the light turns green.

Sam wants to cry, scream, throw a fit that a toddler would envy—but she doesn’t. Instead, she stuffs her feelings into a box, locks it, and throws away the key. It isn’t worth it; it’s not worth the pain and the anger and the rage.

_I'm on the ledge while you're so_

_God damn polite and composed_

_And I know you see me,_

_And you're making it look so easy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like my third favorite song off the album. In this chapter, we get to see that Jess is bae, Josh is sad, and Sam's having a bad week.
> 
> my roommate is a fucking nerd but she helps me edit, so thanks [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas).
> 
> Also thanks to the ever-bae [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for loving this fic. It brings me joy to my cold, dead heart.
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	8. Stutter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comes from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vTXI5HMNKm0) song, stutter.

_And I'm begging you,_

_Bring me back to life,_

_I just can't stand leaving you alone tonight._

Sam unlocks the door to apartment 302A, unable to look behind her at Josh’s door, the forlorn 302B staring back at her. She feels hollow, the threads of a looming panic attack tugging at her. She can’t see Josh—he can’t see her like this, not hollow and empty and lost. There are some burdens you have to shoulder alone, and this is one of them.

She makes it as far as her living room before it starts spinning around her, heartbeat pounding in her ears and breathing rapid and shallow. How could she have thought everything was going to be okay? It could never be okay, everything is terrible and no one knows—the anxiety is overwhelming, and she curls up on the floor to try and compact herself, ground herself, but it’s not working.

Sam’s mind whispers traitorous thoughts to her— _you’re weak, here you are on the floor again because you can’t handle anything like an actual human being, do you remember when you used to be_ normal _and you could actually handle adversity?—_ and Sam wonders where she lost her bravery, her curiosity, her love of life.

Her mind is blank of any coping mechanisms, her only thoughts are _anxiety_ and _panic_. Sam tries to focus on her breathing, her hummingbird heartbeat, the anxious nausea twisting her stomach.

Sam’s not sure how much mind passes when she notices the anxiety clouding her mind subsiding, her breathing slowing, the nausea passing. She sits up, and tries to convince herself that ‘ _Anxiety attacks aren’t weakness, they’re the breaking point of a person who’s been too strong for too long,’_ but the saccharine words feel sickeningly sweet and false. It can’t help but feel like weakness as she lays on the floor, trying to count the cracks on the ceiling to ground and distract herself.

She wishes she could call Jess, or Mike, or even Ashley, but none of them knew about the anxiety. Sam had never wanted to worry any of them, or maybe she didn’t want to admit she wasn’t a flawless, brave human being.

Sam wishes she could talk to Josh, and the thought startles her. When did she start thinking about her weird hot neighbor as someone she could trust, someone she could pour her soul out to?

But she’s not that brave, no yet—so when she finally gathers the strength to stand, Sam doesn’t go knock on 302B. Sam doesn’t see Josh leaving his apartment, bag in hand, business card for a local mental hospital tucked in his back pocket. She doesn’t see him pause to glance at her door, weighing, debating, judging— _she doesn’t want to see me, not now, maybe not ever_ —before he jogs down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

After lunch, Sam feels slightly better—less shaky, less nervous, though her mom’s conversation runs circles around her head. _A distraction,_ she thinks, _I need a distraction._

_Sam [12:18 PM]: We should hang out! I wanna meet ur soulmate ;)_

_Ashley [12:19 PM]: Oh my god stop. But yeah, we should hang out! We’re still getting to know each other. We don’t want to rush into a relationship or anything, you know? But he’s adorable, honestly. I think I’m really lucky._

_Sam [12:19 PM]: Chris is the lucky one. You’re like, primo-soulmate material. He has no idea how lucky he is. Wanna get dinner tonight? I don’t have any plans, if ur free. I can be ur third wheel!_

_Ashley [12:20 PM]: You can only be our third wheel if you promise not to give Chris the shovel talk. I don’t want you to scare him away!!_

_Sam [12:20 PM]: Lets meet at that cute cafe by work at five :)_

_Ashley [12:21 PM]: But do you promise???_

_Ashley [12:25 PM]:_ _ಥ_ಥ_

Sam smiles at Ashley’s response. She doesn’t _really_ plan to give Chris the shovel talk—well, maybe a little. Ashley deserves nothing but the best out of a soulmate—but Ash will be too nervous about Sam to overwork herself into a panicked tizzy over hanging out with Chris again.

She ends up passing the time with the boring stuff—cleaning her bathroom, vacuuming, paying bills—all the worst parts of being an adult. Sam resists the urge to go online shopping, a guilty habit that rears its ugly head when she’s stressed. Trying to think happy, positive thoughts, she ends up scrolling mindlessly down her facebook newsfeed before she sees some _stupid,_ _bigoted post_ —Sam quickly exits out of facebook. Nothing good can come out of picking fights with assholes on the internet.

By the time Sam’s at the cafe, phone in hand for when Ashley texts her, she feels better, if a bit worn out. The past few days have been a veritable roller coaster of anger, sadness, relief, and back down into rage. But Sam needs to keep her calm now, the last thing she wants to deal with is Ashley nagging her into talking about her feelings. She’s done enough of that in the past few days, and there’s not enough liquor in the world that get her to talk about her parents right now.

“Uh, you’re Sam, right?” a vaguely familiar voice asks. Sam turns, and it’s Chris, looking vaguely uncomfortable at the prospect of being alone with her and making awkward small-talk.

“Yeah. Chris, right? I’ve always wondered what kind of guy would give Ashley that soul mark,” she replies, and he tenses slightly at the unspoken judgment in her words. “I’m pleasantly surprised,” Sam finishes, and Chris relaxes in turn.

“Just don’t fuck it up, okay? Ashley deserves nothing less than _the best_ ,” Sam stresses. “Capiche?”

Chris looks like a deer in the headlights, and she pats his arm, his shoulder too tall to comfortably reach. “I think we’ll get along fine. You seem pretty harmless, and you seem to really like Ash.”

Chris blushes slightly at that, and Sam finds herself softening towards him. He seems nice and genuine, if a little nerdy; but he’ll make Ashley happy, and that’s all that matters. It’s not his fault that he accidentally uncovered Josh’s lie, he couldn’t have known what Josh had told Sam on that Sunday night.

Fortunately, Ashley arrives to alleviate any tension between them, giving Chris a shy hug. _Aww, young love_ , Sam thinks wryly.

Ashley and Sam tell Chris about their workplace, the kind of stuff they do, and the sheer amount of reading and writing involved. Ashley’s animated, explaining some of the finer points of environmental law in California and the impact legislation had on everyday consumers. Sam admits—environmental legislation is dry, boring material, but Chris nods along and asks all the right questions at the right time.

Once the conversation begins to die down, and Ashley’s glancing shyly out the window and wringing her hands, Sam knows she has to jump in and prevent any kind of over thinking or awkward silences.

“So, Chris, how did you and Josh meet? I don’t know if he mentioned it, but he lives across the hall from me,” Sam asks, and Chris nods, understanding.

“ _You’re_ the crazy bat lady.”

“Is that what he called me?”

“Well, Sam,” Ashley says, “you did refer to him as weird hot neighbor. You still do, in fact.”

“Besides the point, Ashley. At least my name for him involves a compliment. He just makes me sound like a weird old lady who lives alone with pet _bats_ instead of _cats._ ”

“ _Anyways,”_ Chris coughs, attempting to get the conversation back on course. “Me and Josh met in third grade, when he got moved to sit next to me ‘cause this other guy kept snapping this girl’s bra strap.”

“Aw, the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Ashley coos.

“And we’ve been best bros ever since! Even if he makes an obscene amount of sex jokes and always ruins the movie experience. I mean, I guess he is a film critic, it’s his job to rip apart movies. The only people that can ever get him to shut up during movies are Hannah and Beth—his sisters,” he explains, to Ashley’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Josh has mentioned them,” Sam hedges, her internal curiosity warring with her anger at Josh. Curiosity wins out. “What are they like?”

“Well, Hannah’s sweet. She’s just, so nice, and innocent, and sometimes I wonder if her and Josh are really related because they are total opposites, you know? Hannah loves the Notebook, loves all those dumb reality shows, and it drives Josh up a wall. And Beth is... the only person who can out-innuendo Josh, and embarrass him. She’s super blunt. But they all love each other... it’s kind of sickeningly sweet, to see that much sibling bondage. Josh would give his life for them, and they’d do the same.”

Ashley directs the conversation with a question about Chris’s family, and Chris launches into an explanation about growing up in bumfuck, Oklahoma before moving to L.A. right before starting third grade.

Sam drifts out of the conversation, her mind churning with the new information. It’s easy to paint Josh as the one at fault, lying just for lying’s sake, but Sam knows he’s a good guy. She’s heard the way he talks about his siblings, the gentle tone of his voice and the softening of his eyes. Ashley keeps glancing at her, noticing her distractedness, but Chris keeps pulling her back in the conversation by talking about _this app_ or _that new device._

When they part for the night, Ashley hugs her fiercely. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” she whispers into Sam’s ear.

“I know, Ash. I just need some time to think, I swear,” Sam whispers back. Then raising her voice slightly, she says, “and don’t forget to use protection!”

Ashley and Chris wear matching blushes and both sputter indignantly as Sam waves them goodbye.

 

* * *

 

The next day, she gets a text from Mike.

_Mike [9:43 AM]: Tonight we’re all hanging and drinking to celebrate Matt and Em’s impending soulmate-ness. This isn’t an invitation, it’s an order_

_Mike [9:43 AM]: that last part was Jess’s idea, jsyk_

_Sam [9:45 AM]: I’ll be there if I don’t have to supply any alcohol_

_Mike [9:50 AM]: We just need ur beautiful, shining presence here at 6._

_Sam [10:01 AM]: see you then_

Sam contemplates trying to get out of it, her social quota filled by her third-wheeling last night, but she knows Mike would be bummed out. She’s also curious to see how Em and Matt work together—it would either be oil and water, or yin and yang.

A deep, selfish part of her wants it to fail—she wants undeniable proof that soulmates aren’t the end-all-and-be-all, but as soon as the thought surfaces she shuts it down. Sam will be happy for her friends, and she will wish her the best. She does her best to quash the green-eyed monster curled in her abdomen. Sam’s better than this—better than pettiness or jealousy.

Her parents divorce isn’t the end of the world, even though it feels like her world is crumbling apart. Sam tries to hold on to the hope that time will lessen the blow, and that she’ll be able to talk to her mom without bursting with rage or call her father without crying.

 

* * *

 

Sam swore to herself she wouldn’t drink too much at the get-together, her hangover from her girl-time with Jess fresh in her mind.

Sam’s a filthy fucking liar, apparently. The world tilts on its axis as she and Emily sit on the loveseat together, drinks in hand.

“My parents don’t give a shit about me,” Emily says bluntly. “They use me to get back at each other, like some fucking pawn in a game only they care about. When I fuck up, they blame each other, and when I do something well, they both try to buy me shit to prove that they’re the one who loves me more. But fuck them, honestly. I’ve succeeded because I fucking worked for it, not because of them.”

Sam blinks blearily, frowning at Emily. She’s pretty sure Em doesn’t have two heads, so she ignores her double vision. “My mom decided to divorce my dad after 27 years of marriage because she finally met her soulmate, even though she’s been saying all my life soulmates don’t really matter.”

Emily frowns. “My parents are soulmates, and they still fucking hate each other, you know? Like, honestly, life’s fucked up.”

They both sit silently for a moment, sipping their respective drinks, before Sam finally bursts, “God, she’s being so fucking selfish. You know? Like, why even bother with anything in life if they’re not your shitty soulmate, honestly. I’m just so tired of seeing soulmates everywhere, like once you meet them everything’s hunky-dory.”

Emily looks at her, eyes hard, and Sam wonders if she said something wrong. “First off, Kamkin, I think you’re the only one under the age of 70 that says ‘hunky-dory,’ honestly. Second off, _get over yourself_. I know that _you know_ that your mom wouldn’t have fucking divorced your dad after twenty-something years if she didn’t think about it long and hard,” and Emily glares at her pointedly.

“And you can’t just give up on all relationships because they aren’t or are your soulmate! You’re not usually a cynic, Samantha, that’s _my job_. You’re supposed to be the optimistic one, and I can’t honestly believe you wouldn’t forgive someone because they made a decision that they thought was right.”

Sam’s completely taken aback by Emily’s passionate and angry declaration. She takes another sip of her drink to gather her thoughts, before saying, “Thanks, Em. I needed that.”

Emily snorts. “Don’t thank me,” she advises. “Go do something about your shitty situation, once you’ve gotten over your hangover.”

Sam gives her a playful shove. “Yeah, whatever. You’re secretly a big softie, no wonder you and Matt work so well.”

“I’m _not_ a softie, and if you tell anyone about this, I’ll make sure you live to regret it.”

Sam doesn’t doubt her for a second.

_It's too late to go,_

_Already taken me forever just to try to know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Josh takes a step in the right direction. Sam gets her head on straight, and Emily's home life is inspired by the breakfast club.
> 
> thanks for my favorite beta and salt partner, [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas).
> 
> many thanks and much love to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar), one of the best human beings ever.
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/), and I think I'm going to keep my halloween url because it contains all my favorite parts: "very" "spooky" and "bisexual."


	9. Toy Soldiers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by [Toy Soldiers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=khkcAlhb6vI).

Sam’s hangover may be atrocious— _I’m never drinking again, I swear!_ —but Emily’s words ring in her mind.

_Get over yourself._

She wonders when she closed herself off so much, lost some of the empathy that made her, well, _her_ —and Claire’s name echoes like a gunshot in her memories. The girl who broke her heart because she met her soulmate; the girl who said, _‘Well, we’re not soulmates, it was never gonna work long term anyway;’_ the girl that made Sam want to stop feeling so much, the heartbreak and the anger overwhelming and isolating.

But Claire was gone now, and Sam couldn’t keep letting her life be dictated by a cheerleader who was no longer there. And even if her mom’s words echoed in her thoughts, eerily similar to Claire’s— _‘Soulmates exist for a reason_ ’—Sam shouldn’t, wouldn’t, _can’t_ let her fear and her past pains stop her from living.

Nodding to herself, she marches up her stairs. She’s going to see Josh, and talk to him, and stop hiding in her apartment like a fucking coward, because she’s Samantha Kamkin, who’s _fear_ and _pain_ won’t harden her, it will only make her _kinder_ , because empathy is a gift and curse but she’ll wield it like a sword—and she knocks on his door.

The 302B stares at her judgmentally, and she can almost hear the, ‘ _Why are you here, too little too late, you made your choice when you ran out of that store and out of his life’._

As she bounces on the balls of her feet, she tries to stop projecting her insecurities onto the innocuous, gold-plated lettering that spells out the apartment number. Sam fails spectacularly.

‘ _You should leave, he can see you through the peep-hole, if he hasn’t answered by now he doesn’t want to, take a cue and leave.’_

“He lied to me, he was in the wrong, though I probably shouldn’t have hightailed it out of there,” she whispers furiously to the letters, glaring accusingly at them as if they were an animate object with emotions and reason. They weren’t.

Someone clears their throat behind her, and Sam whirls around, half on the defensive and half embarrassed that she had been caught whispering to a door.

It’s Josh, and her heart leaps to her throat as she takes a few seconds to catalogue his appearance—he looks tired, but he’s standing straighter, and his clothes are rumpled and the cheap plastic hospital bracelet wrapped around his wrist looks worn and grimy, the small duffel bag held loosely in his hand—and Sam launches herself at him, and Josh drops his duffel bag to accommodate the small woman hugging him with the ferocity of a grizzly bear.

“Sammy?” Josh asks, and his voice is soft and hesitant and full of raw disbelief.

Sam hugs him tighter, not speaking to hide the fact she’s on the border of tears, the stresses and the emotions and the endless cycle of _catharsis—pain—catharsis—pain_ taking their toll—there’s only so much self-reflection, self-discovery, and change that she can handle at one time.

Josh’s arms sneak around her with a vice like grip, and they both cling to each other like a drowning man clings to a life preserver.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into the material of his shirt, face pressed against his sternum and she can hear his heartbeat flittering in his chest, and the warmth that seeps out of him.

“I think you’ve got role-reversal—I’m the one that’s supposed to be apologizing, Sammy,” he says humorlessly.

Sam takes a deep breath, trying to figure out how to word all the emotions churning inside of her—yes, she’s mad, but he probably has a good reason and she doesn’t want to bring up something that’s painful or insensitive, but he _lied—_

She ends up saying none of that; instead, the words muffled by his chest are, “Fuck you, Joshua.” Sam wants to add a softener, like, ‘ _It’s okay,’_ or maybe ‘ _We can talk about this later,’_ but she doesn’t.

Josh is shaking, and _oh god, did I fuck up, I put my foot in my mouth again, way to be super blunt, Kamkin, you’d make Em real proud_ —but he’s laughing, and the sound is wonderful that even though she’s still made because he _blatantly lied to her, over and over, even if he had a good reason it still hurts because how can someone who keeps soy milk and tofutti ice cream in his fridge lie about something so important?_

But people are full of contradictions, and the same Josh who kept vegan stuff for her in his fridge even though she lives across the hall just to accommodate her easier on their frequent takeout nights is the same Josh that lied to her about his soul mark—the same Josh who let her in when she was scared and in pain and high off adrenaline is the same Josh who’s holding her right now; for the moment, that’s enough.

When Josh starts swaying tiredly on his feet, Sam reluctantly pries herself out of his grip.

“Sammy,” he starts, but she impulsively stands on her tiptoes to peck his cheek right when he was turning his head, and her heart stops as their lips brush.

When they enter Josh’s apartment and Sam’s already dialing their favorite Mediterranean takeout place, they don’t talk about the almost kiss. They don’t talk about the hospital bracelet on Josh’s wrist. They don’t talk about the way Sam keeps rubbing the back of her neck like her soul mark is braille and she can read the script with her fingers.

What they do talk about is Chris and Ashley and their blossoming relationship, Sam tells Josh about her third-wheeling and he laughs at that.

“I never thought you’d be the third-wheel type, Sammy, you seem more like the heartbreaker than anything.”

She talks about her rock climbing, and how she’d love to take Josh out to try it.

“The only kind of physical fitness I engage in is the bedroom, if you’d like to join me.”

Sam mentions the divorce, in passing, and Josh doesn’t say anything, but her ruffles her hair.

Josh talks about his sisters, how they might be visiting, and Sam’s excited but nervous.

“If they’re anything like you, I’m terrified for the state of 302B.”

He mentions a movie he has to go view for work, and fiddles idly with the hospital bracelet. Sam wonders if it’s an absent minded movement, or if he’s keenly aware of the way the plastic rasps against his skin.

Sam doesn’t say anything, even though the words bubble at her lips, because she’s afraid of the answers, afraid he might lie again, afraid he doesn’t trust her enough, afraid he doesn’t like her enough.

She swore to not leave the fear drown her bravery, but the delicate balance they’ve achieved is a fragile and breakable thing.

So she doesn’t ask.

 

* * *

 

Josh feels unreal—not dissociating, not any of the warning signs of a bad episode, but walking down the hallway to see Sam muttering at his door was the last way he thought he’d make his homecoming.

Honestly, he thought he’d go home, collapse on his couch, surf T.V. and pretend his soulmate wasn’t currently across the hall hating him with every fiber of her being.

He feels lighter after his release—but he can’t tell if the hollowness in his chest is emptiness or the absence of the burdens he’s been carrying for so long. Josh isn’t about semantics, at this point—the doctor had listened, truly _listened_ , and she prescribed him quetiapine, and they set up an appointment for the following week. And _finally_ , he could start seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, a way up and out of the hole he’d been digging for years, and the relief was giddying.

And then Sam shows up, hugs him like he hadn’t been lying to her from the moment they met—though her “fuck you” held the anger and resentfulness she obviously deserved to feel—and she seemed different too, her movements more open, her words had more feeling—or maybe it’s just him that’s changed.

Sam curled up next to him on the couch, dozing as How It’s Made plays on the T.V. feels right, and he wonders, is he cautiously allowed to hope? The words on his back tingle, and he can picture her handwriting and the way it curves along his back. Can he tell her? Should he tell her?

Fuck, she hates soulmates, fuck, her parents are getting divorced, fuck—he’s lied to her, he let her down, _of course_ he can’t tell her—maybe Josh is on the mend, but he’s no spring chicken.

He has baggage, and scars, and demons to deal with.

But Josh looks at Sam, curled up next to her, and the way her brows are furrowed in her sleep, and the way her voice hitched when she talked about her parents, and the way she curls in on herself when they watch romance movies with soulmates—and he thinks, _maybe she has baggage, and scars, and demons to deal with too._

 

* * *

 

Sam doesn’t mean to, but she falls asleep on Josh’s sinfully comfortable couch, feeling exhausted and a little emotionally overwhelmed. She drifts off fitfully, afraid that when she wakes up, everything will be gone; any peace of mind gained will be lost.

She vaguely remembers someone covering her with a blanket that smells of mandarin and tea, and she nuzzles into the comforting scent reflexively, and she feels warm lips brush her brow like a promise.

 

* * *

 

She wakes up with a crick in her neck and unfamiliar surroundings, blinking as she tries to place why she’s not in her bedroom. A quick look at her phone shows it’s 5 in the morning and almost out of battery. _Useless piece of junk_ , she thinks, as the red battery blinking cheerfully to remind her of her mistakes and misdeeds.

As Sam sits up, the blanket slides off of her, still smelling of mandarin and tea, and it’s comforting and intoxicating all at once.

She fell asleep at Josh’s, even though they were in a weird stage and she isn’t sure where they both stand with each other, and Sam quashes the urge to go find Josh and bring up the elephant in the room—even though she did so good last night, not questioning, not pushing, just seeking some balance

_Uncertainty Reduction Theory: asserts the notion that, when interacting, people need information about the other party in order to reduce their uncertainty. In gaining this information people are able to predict the other's behavior and resulting actions, all of which according to the theory is crucial in the development of any relationship._

_Who knew that communication theory class in college would ever be applicable in real life_ , she thinks, but by sleepily psychoanalyzing her urge she distracts herself from the fact that she slept on Josh’s couch. He put a blanket on her—oh, god, what if he saw her _drool_ , or _snore_ —

Her phone buzzes, providing yet another compelling distraction from her current train of thought.

_Melanie [5:34 AM]: New case, it’s big, come to the office to pick up the material when you get a chance. Lots of overtime this week, but at least there’ll be a good paycheck!_

God, the idea of having a heart attack brought on by stress at age 30 seemed to be less of a possibility and more of a reality, at her current pace of overworking herself.

Sam stands up, folding the blanket carefully on the couch, and tiptoes down the hallway to what she assumes is Josh’s bedroom, just to see if he’s in there—

 _He looks beautiful when he’s asleep,_ she thinks, and then— _I sound like a fucking creep_.

His room is a disaster, clothes thrown on the floor and sheets rumpled as he sprawls across his bed, blanket only covering half of his body. The only saving grace of cleanliness is the carefully pressed tuxedo hanging off the closet door, pristine in plastic. Sam wonders briefly why he owns a tuxedo, but shakes her head and carefully shuts the door behind her.

Scribbling a note to tack onto his fridge under his Alberta magnet, she writes:

_Sorry for the impromptu sleepover, I’ll buy you dinner to make up for it! Got some overtime this week though. See you later :) —Sam_

Sam steals the carton of soymilk from Josh’s fridge, and leaves another smiley-face sticky note in its place.

_Don’t you wanna love,_

_Don’t you want to_

_Don’t you think I deserve better after all that we’ve been through_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, reuniting babies! There's a lot of italics in this chapter. _whoops_.
> 
> I'm almost done with chapter 15, but I'm rapidly approaching the end of my saved up chapters. I'm hoping to not come to a point where I don't post regularly, but final exam season is upon us. I'm definitely trying to squeeze in writing when I can, though!
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas). (get wrekt for comicon this weekend)
> 
> thanks to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar), one of the best human beings ever. (and I hope she feels better!)
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	10. B Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by [B Team](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UN3R0ncvMdo), one of my favorite songs ever.
> 
> I'm hoping by the time I get to the new album, there will be videos of it on youtube...I can only find live versions at concerts, for now. If anyone has any suggestions for how to link y'all to the songs for the most recent album besides youtube, please let me know!

_You could want this_

_See if it fits for a bit_

_And if you don't like it_

_Then you can go like you have been_

“This can’t be right,” Sam mutters to herself, tone dripping with disbelief and horror.

Her highlighter is paused over some clause, words glaring her in the face and the dawning comprehension and horror overcoming her.

“Melanie,” Sam calls out, quiet, struggling to stay calm. Melanie doesn't answer.

“Melanie!” she calls out, louder, panic creeping into her voice.

Melanie bursts into the room like she’s expecting an intruder, looking around wildly. “What? What’s wrong?”

Sam takes a deep breath, highlights the clause, and slides the stack of papers across her desk. “Look at this, and tell me I’m just high off sleep deprivation or some sleeping in an unfamiliar place. Tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

Melanie reads it; reads it again—“Oh, no. _Shit_.”

The quiet declamation is not what Sam expected—she was thinking about more wailing and gnashing of teeth, or Melanie telling her she’s wrong, or Melanie looking determined like she can take on the world—Superwoman in a pants suit.

She slides the stack of papers across the desk, and says quietly, almost as if she’s talking to herself, “The difference between morality and legality is ethics.”

And then, Melanie addresses Sam, a quiet, haunting pain in her eyes, “Our hands are tied, Sam. There’s nothing we can do.”

Her heart drops like a stone.

“That...can’t be right. This clause has to be wrong, there’s no way any good legislature would let something like that pass, it’s just a giant loophole for corporations to destroy our environment! That’s not right.”

“Unless it’s a big oil spill, companies that quietly ruin the environment will never face any reputational costs—the most they’ll get is a slap on the wrist and a fine. _Shit_ , there’s no way we can win this case now.”

“Melanie—are you seriously thinking about the case? Right now? The larger implications of this are _staggering_ ,” Sam stresses, heart beating a staccato rhythm in her ears. Why doesn’t Melanie _understand_ , it’s not about the case anymore, it’s about the system—how many corporations will find this clause and slip through the loopholes, fucking over the environment and everything else on this planet—

And Melanie turns, her eyes anguished but her back is ramrod straight; and Sam finally gets it.

This is what everyone warned her about law—the struggle of setting aside your beliefs, your morals, your ethical rules. It was naive to think she could change the world, she knows that; but deep down she still held onto that hope that they could fight and make changes through the legal system. Sam had held onto hope that legislatures would understand that they way that humans acted wasn’t sustainable, that their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren would inherit a scorched and barren earth.

Sam scrunches her eyes closed, trying to hold back the tears from all the pain and confusion in the last week that had piled onto her; this stupid clause being the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Her parents are getting divorced, she’s not sure how she feels about soulmates, she’s overreacting, Josh’s lying, unsteady ground beneath her feet—the crumbling foundation of things she thought she could believe, things she thought she could put her trust in: her parents, Josh, environmental law.

She’s confused, angry, and ready to burst; but Emily’s words echo in her mind— _Get over yourself._

Sam opens her eyes, successfully quelling the tears threatening to overflow. Melanie looks at her, concerned.

“When I became a paralegal, I thought I could make a difference, you know? I wanted to help people, I wanted to help the environment—but everything’s changing, and honestly, I’m not sure how to handle that—is that wrong?”

Melanie sits on the edge of the desk, grabbing Sam’s hand. “Sometimes, I think becoming a lawyer was the worst decision I ever made,” she starts, and Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. _What?_

“I thought I was a hot-shot, and I could save the world single-handedly. And some days, we win a big case, and I feel justified, and some days, I wonder if I’m a terrible person for setting aside morals to do my job. Sometimes, I wake up in the morning and I hate myself,” Melanie whispers fiercely, clutching Sam’s hand like a lifeline.

Sam waits for Melanie to continue, and Melanie looks like she’s teetering on the edge of saying something else, but she doesn’t—she just pats Sam’s hand and releases it, and walks out of the room.

 _God_ , she has a headache. Does she keep researching the case, looking for another way to fix this? Melanie seemed pretty despondent about their chances, but they were duty bound to finish this, even if it was all for nothing.

Is she overreacting, like Emily might say? Is it the emotions from earlier in the week that cloud her judgement, or is she just so disillusioned that she finally can see the hopelessness of the shitty American legal system, where the rich get richer while also fucking the earth over?

She wants to talk to Ash, but she’s always been good about separating herself from her work—and Ash doesn’t even want to be a paralegal, she’s saving up for law school herself to study copyright law or something like that.

She wants to talk to Jess, but Jess wouldn’t understand, not really—she doesn’t want sympathy, or comfort, or to get drunk and cry.

She wants to talk to Josh. Josh, who will listen, and understand, and not try and provide comfort, or sympathy—Sam just wants someone to listen, not advise, or try and rationalize.

It scares her, honestly, the fact that the Josh is the one who comes to mind—how comfortable she feels around him, his enthusiasm for movies of all kinds (even if he loves taking apart scenes in a way that completely ruins the magic—now she can never watch Harry Potter the same way, _thank you very much_.)

For the rest of the work day, she tries to push her unsettled thoughts out of her mind, and tries not to think about Josh or subclauses or legal loopholes.

 

* * *

 

By the time Sam knocks on Josh’s door that night, her mind is spinning and she’s even more confused than she was earlier.

Everytime Sam thinks she has a grip on what’s going on, something else appears; like she’s suddenly leveled up in a video game and all the enemies come crawling out of the woodwork—if enemies were sudden parental divorces, lied-about soul marks, and morally dubious dilemmas.

Josh opens the door, and without any kind of greeting or social pleasantries she shuffles in past him, dropping the takeout bags on the kitchen table and collapsing on his couch.

“Long day, Sammy?” he asks—and Sam notices he’s starting to look better, like maybe he’s getting more sleep.

At least one of them is, to be honest.

She rolls over, burying her face in his pillow, and her groans are muffled by the soft fabric, and Sam hears the crinkling of a paper bag before a warm object is set on her back.

Twisting her head, she sees it’s her dinner, lid pried off and placed delicately on the small of her back.

“How am I supposed to get that without knocking it over?” she grumbles, and Josh shrugs, a grin quirking up the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t know Sammy. Maybe if you ask me nicely,” Josh suggests, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Hardy har, Joshy. You wish. I take that as a _challenge_ ,” Sam replies haughtily, trying to bed her arm in impossible ways to grab her meal without spilling her hard-earned food all over Josh’s carpet. Though he probably deserves it, it’s definitely a waste of food.

“Come on, Sam, just say, ‘pretty please, Josh, with a cherry on top,’ and I’ll help you out,” Josh taunts, grinning, and while the smile is cute and all Sam doesn’t take kindly to losing, and she tells him in as many words.

He laughs, which infuriates her even more (even if secretly, deep, deep down—she thinks his laugh is beautiful and sinful).

But she only replies with an irritated huff, twisting her arms and finally grabbing the edge of the container, only to have it wobble dangerously.

“Shit!”

Josh kneels in front of the couch to be eye-level with Sam, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“Why do you have a shit eating grin on your face?” Sam asks with a sigh.

“Because it’s fun to watch you wiggle around on my couch. Like one of those tiny dachshunds.”

“Are you calling me a _weiner dog?_ ”

Josh doesn’t answer, he’s too busy laughing, and Sam stops her fruitless reaching for the plate to smack the back of his head lightly.

“Watch it, buster, or as soon as I’ve got this figured out I will hunt you down. I’m stronger than you, and you’re gonna regret it!” Sam threatens, but he continues to belly laugh. Deep down, she’s relieved that he’s here, laughing—recently, he’d been so tired, and the haunted look in his eyes had been prominent.

Josh’s eyes haven’t completely lost the haunted took, but it’s lessened; flickering instead of a raging fire.

But now, as he laughs, his shoulders are curved with mirth instead of sadness—and Sam can’t hide how it fills her heart with hope.

And then, of course, he calls her a dachshund again, laughing hysterically. Her brows furrow. _Fuck that guy_.

“Your face—Sammy, you should see your face,” he cackles, wiping (imaginary) tears from his eyes. “I haven’t laughed this hard since Beth accidentally grabbed some guys crotch.”

“I haven’t seen anyone laugh like a hyena before, Joshy,” she snaps.

Josh takes pity on her (or maybe he’s worried her food will get cold and she’ll punch him, which isn’t too far out of the realm of possibilities) and takes the food off her back and places it on the table. As soon as she rights herself, she punches his shoulder.

“Jerk,” Sam mutters.

“Vegan,” Josh retorts.

Sam, the mature adult she is, sticks her tongue out at him and crosses her eyes.

She loves the stupid friendship they have, even if the niggling doubt of ‘ _liar’_ whispers in the back corner of her mind. Sam can forgive, but it’s harder to forget, but she does her best to push the thought out of her mind.

“So, how’s work?” Josh asks, casually, as if he didn’t just remind Sam of all the anxiety she’d managed to push aside for a moment. Her hands begin to shake, and she glares at the hand holding her fork and struggles to hold it still. Everything comes crashing down at once, and she’s lost in a sea of worries and struggles and problems that she can’t deal with, that she’s not ready to deal with—

Josh notices either her deer-in-the-headlights look or her lack of a verbal response, and looks vaguely concerned. “Sammy, are you alright?”

“Work is...work,” she says, carefully, syllables clipped to hide her anxiety. _Now is_ not _the time for this_ , Sam thinks.

Josh looks at her, and she hates the sympathy and worry in his eyes. She’s fine; she can handle this—she can. At least, Sam tells herself this, the words stuck on repeat in an endless loop in her thoughts.

“Sam, it seems like it’s not just work,” Josh says, voice careful, like he’s testing the waters—like she’s fragile, or breakable.

“I’m _fine_. Everything’s _fine_. It’s just a _case_ ,” Sam stresses, but her treacherous voice cracks on the last word.

Josh looks at her, at the tears lining her lashes, and her trembling lips, and shaking hands.

But he doesn’t push her, like he understands what it’s like to be pestered to talk about your feelings when she just wants to forget; to be pushed to talk about something you’re not ready to face.

Instead, Josh turns to face the T.V., and inches closer on the couch, throwing a casual arm over her shoulder, his warmth, solid presence, and scent of tea and mandarin soothes her anxious nerves.

And Sam wonders, if maybe Josh has his own baggage, and scars, and demons to deal with.

Tears are slipping down her face before she even registers them, and her hands are shaking, and her head is spinning. Josh doesn’t look at Sam, or her spotted, tear-stained face; and for that, she’s profoundly grateful. He does tighten his grip, and his hand rubs small circles on her shoulder. He’s warm, and she unconsciously leans into them as Sam tries to tame her wildly galloping thoughts as they go from hurdle to hurdle— _soulmates, divorce, lies, ethics—_ and around again.

 _I’m having an anxiety attack in front of my neighbor, and he’s not even reacting,_ Sam thinks hysterically. But that’s not true—he’s respecting her privacy, and grounding her, and distracting her—and she has a sneaking suspicion he knows what she’s going through. She wonders if that’s why he looks like he doesn’t sleep for weeks, or the hesitation in his smile, or the lapsed silences where he stares into space and doesn’t speak, eyes haunted and mouth twisted into a grimace.

Before she can fully notice it, her heartbeat begins to slow down, and she can finally take another bite of Mediterranean food without the dinner falling off her fork. Sam notices the choice of film on T.V.—it’s Monty Python And The Holy Grail, her greatest weakness.

Her tears finally dry by the time they reach Castle Anthrax, and Sam touches Josh’s knee lightly. He finally glances at her, and she knows her face must be a mess of black mascara marks—and _God,_ she’s an ugly crier—but she whispers, “Thanks.”

Josh nods, and she can see his jaw working as he tries to figure out how to respond.

“You’re welcome.”

_This could hurt some,_

_But if we don't never know what it's worth to ya_

_I saw you first,_

_Do you remember?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens! Melanie is bae! Who knew I would fall in love with my OC created for this story...whoops.
> 
> The point of this chapter is to get Josh to realize Sam's not perfect, which is my biggest problem in a lot of portrayals of Josh/Sam. They paint Josh as fucked up and Sam as some kind of savior, when she's not perfect and he's a lot more multifaceted than "depressed/psychosis," so that's really what drives me to elaborate on Sam's issues/imperfections. 
> 
> Guess who got to meet Gerard Way? Me. God bless that poor man.
> 
> My publishing rate is higher than my writing rate, so we'll see how that goes. I'm averaging about one chapter a week for writing, and trying to publish two a week. I might have to adjust my schedule for finals and presentations, but I'm on track to finish this pretty soon, I hope?
> 
> Thanks so much for all your lovely reviews and comments. They mean so much to me, and help keep me inspired!
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), and wish her good luck on her physics test this week.
> 
> thanks to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar), one of the best human beings ever (don't forget to check out her jossam fics!)
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	11. So Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is [So Soon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UN3R0ncvMdo), which makes me wanna cry.
> 
> Thank you for being patient with my updates. Exam/presentation season is here for the semester, so I'm afraid it'll continue to be a bit more sporadic.
> 
> However: **next week will only have one update.** I'll be home for Thanksgiving, and since we host it I'll be roped into mostly cooking and baking for two days straight. I will also try and catch up with writing!! I'm hoping to finish soon.

_I know some things should just stay broken_

_I'm well aware this should remain unspoken_

_But I've been working on the things that I was learning all wrong_

Sam doesn’t think work can get any worse, but the universe takes a perverse joy in punching her in the face. Repeatedly. And then kicking her when she falls down.

Melanie looks somber, and even Ashley is worried about this case—but as far as Sam’s concerned, fuck the case. It’s the larger implications of the loophole that matter—the potential impact on the environment is staggering, and legally, there’s nothing she can do about it.

She clenches her fist, nails biting into her palms to ground herself, ignoring the angry crescent moons left on her palms by her unforgiving nails.

Sam walks sluggishly up the stairs, torn between anxious energy and bone-deep tiredness as the need for her to make a choice becomes apparent. Is she the only one taking this badly? Is she the only one who’s bothered by this issue? How can she morally accept that this clause is legal, and the case that they’re building—and they can only lose, at this point—will only serve to strengthen the precedent, because of this shitty loophole? How can she knowingly compile evidence that will only be used against them, and hundreds of other cases like it?

Glancing at Josh’s door, she shakes her head. He saw her last night at a low point, and obviously he’s going through his own issues. Sam refuses to burden him with her petty anxieties. She’ll just wrap herself up in her favorite blanket, drink some tea, and watch a mindless T.V. show that will distract her from the ever-looming issue—can she keep going like this? Working at a job that will continually force her to deviate from her morals?

 _God_ , Sam wishes she doesn’t care, but it’s in her genetic code to care about the animals killed for hunting, for food; the environments destroyed by corporations and capitalism and greed; all the people hurt by selfish legislative decisions and assholes with too much money; and the bird that hurts its wing when it flies into a window. Her heart aches with it all, and god, _she cares so much_.

 _Overactive empathy,_ Sam tells herself, but it doesn’t help. _Why do I have to care so much? Everything hurts like it’s a deliberate blow against me, even though it’s not; I’m overreacting, I’m over-empathetic, I’m too sensitive_ —

A knock on the door interrupts her rapidly spiraling thoughts.

It’s Josh, looking vaguely troubled and worried, which immediately puts her on the defensive. He shifts nervously as Sam leans against the doorframe.

“What’s up?”

“Brought you some food from that weird, fancy vegan place you like,” he blurts out, holding up a paper bag.

Sam steps aside and wordlessly allows him in. Honestly, she doesn’t want to pull up her facade and pretend she’s not dying to pull her hair out, but the food smells good and Josh... well, he’s here, and Sam hasn’t forgotten how he knew exactly what to do doing her anxiety attack.

Call it curiosity, call it delicious vegan food—Sam ushers him in, grabbing the bag from his hand and setting it on her counter.

Everything about the way Josh moves is deliberate—not like a man trying to avoid scaring an animal, but the way a nurse moves; quiet, efficient, and comforting, all in one. Again, Sam finds herself wondering about Josh’s past—she recognizes the quiet movements of a survivor.

But Sam also respects secrets, and the desire to not want someone to see your vulnerable side.

So she doesn’t ask, instead she watches Josh quietly unpack the food and settle in on her shitty couch, grabbing the T.V. remote off the coffee table like he’s been here thousands of times, instead of only twice.

Sam grabs her plate and curls up next to Josh, leaving a healthy six inches of space between them. She’s hyper-aware—the tables have turned, and she’s not sure how to handle it. Sam counts heartbeats as she stirs her food idly, staring at the T.V. and watching Josh out of the corner of her eye.

Josh looks deceptively comfortable, and it’s only the tension radiating from the jumping muscle in his neck that gives away his discomfort. Josh didn’t press last night, and she wonders what his decision will be now—

“So Sammy, what’s your opinion on Star Wars?”

_Well, that was completely unexpected._

He goads her quickly into an argument about the CGI of the prequel films, and before long the knot in her chest begins to loosen, forgotten about and pushed aside for the time being.

Josh argues for the posterity of the puppets, and Sam argues that the CGI didn’t ruin the prequels, the shitty acting did.

It isn’t until she gets a text from Melanie that her throat closes; her stomach drops and her heartbeat picks up speed.

_Melanie [9:54 PM]: Meeting with the client tomorrow, be here early_

Sam clutches her phone like it’s a lifeline, even though it feels like it’s burning a hole in her hand. Fuck. Fuck. Sam wishes she could forget about her anxiety for longer, but it creeps in when she least expects it and least wants it.

“Sam?” Josh asks hesitantly, twisting around on the couch to look at her.

“It’s just—work stuff,” Sam replies, struggling to hide her wavering voice.

“Big case?” he asks after a beat, and she’s torn between letting the floodgates open and battening down the hatches.

Sam turns to look at him, gauging his attitude, and she sees something in his eyes—it’s empathy, and it’s heart-breaking hope, tangled and twisted into each other. Sam doesn’t know what it means, but maybe she’s not the only one who needs something.

“It’s not so much the case, but a clause I found when doing some research... basically, it’s going to fuck up everything, and there’s _nothing_ I can do about it. It’s legal, and any company that finds it can exploit it,” Sam says, eyes unfocused as she stares off into space, focusing only on getting the words out of her mouth without stuttering or wavering. Her back is rigid, and she tries to enunciate the words carefully and cleanly, like she’s reciting something into a voice recording.

“I know that in every job you have to do things that you don’t like, but this is just _everything_ I’m against, and there’s nothing I can do about it. When we lose the case, we’ll just be another precedent that companies will use to uphold the legal precedent, and if we win—and there’s no way we will—it’ll draw attention to the clause, and more companies will use it. It’s a lose-lose situation,” Sam finishes miserably, and she hopes the tears she feels lining her lashes aren’t visible.

Josh doesn’t say anything, but he grabs her hand—tethering her to the ground, when she’s teetering in between reality and something else.

“It’s—god. I hate it. I hate being powerless, and there’s nothing I can do about it. And everyone expects me not to care, to separate my job from my passions, but I’m not strong enough. I can’t compartmentalize like that—my emotions leak into everything, and I hate myself for it sometimes. I wish—I just wish I didn’t care so much,” she admits brokenly.

Sam focuses on his warm hand, clutching it like a drowning man claws for anything that can keep him above water.

Her face is being pressed against Josh’s chest, and she blinks, disoriented. When did he start hugging her? Sam must be more out of it than she thought—trying to avoid a breakdown so much she’d shut herself down.

“You care so much because you’re _you_ , Sammy. You knocked on my door and wouldn’t leave me alone, even when I was an ass, and you cared about me when you barely knew me. Only the strongest kind of person can care like that,” Josh says into her hair, his sharp tone at odds with the words he speaks.

Sam shakes in his arms, eyes glassy and unseeing, as she tries to hold herself together by her seams.

“You _care_ ,” Josh says. “You care, and that’s okay. _You’re allowed to care_. You’re a better person for caring, even when it hurts.”

She wants so speak, she wants to say ‘ _God, I’m still tired. I’m tired of caring, I’m tired of anxiety, I’m tired of the emotional and mental rollercoaster that I can’t get off of,’_ but Sam can’t speak. Josh’s arms tighten around her, like he knows the words she can’t let out.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t comment on her tremors or her silence, and she’s grateful, though curious—what has he gone through, what burdens has he bore that lead him to be like this?

 _Whatever he’s been through, it’s only made him kind_ , she thinks. _I hope I can be like that too_.

 

* * *

 

Sam doesn’t know if it’s been ten minutes or ten years, but eventually she’s able to pull herself back together, tightening her seams so she’s no longer hanging by a thread.

The only other words Josh speaks on the matter of her breakdown are ‘ _You’re not too old for a career change, Sammy. You can do whatever you want,’_ but he doesn’t press the matter. She tries to convey her regret that he had to see this and her thankfulness with a kiss on his cheek.

Josh colors slightly, but gives her a crooked smile. Sam thinks he understands what she’s trying to say— _I’m sorry and thank you; I wish you didn’t ever have to see that but I’m infinitely grateful you were here._

 

* * *

 

Sam shakes in his arms, and Josh’s thoughts can’t stop running in circles.

It was a shit-shoot, showing up at her door unannounced and uninvited with her favorite vegan food, but after watching her struggle to keep herself in one piece last night, he couldn’t leave her alone. Not like this.

As she cried silently on his couch, the concept of Sam, of his _soulmate_ , became humanized and flawed before his eyes. Josh was overcome with warring emotions of empathy and relief and the sudden realization that neither of them are perfect; but maybe they can build each other up and hold each other together—

And maybe, just maybe, Josh feels a little more worthy, a little less worried that the universe saw fit to pair a broken man with sunshine incarnate; because even sunshine incarnate still has problems and baggage and demons.

He tightens his grip on the shaking soulmate in his arms, wishing he could soothe her worries, but instead he can only speak honestly—she cares, and it’s amazing that she can care so much even when it hurts. Josh wishes he had half the courage she does; even though he hasn’t known her for long her empathy shines out from her like a beacon. It leaves her exposed and vulnerable but she’s better for it—all the pain and hurt she’s endured just serves to make her more kind.

Josh wishes that he could be like that someday.

But for now, he can only help in little ways, the ways he knows would’ve helped him during any of his breakdowns if anyone would’ve been there.

So Josh holds her and bites back the meaningless platitudes that threaten to spill from his mouth, and only tells her how brave she is. How Sam can do anything she wants to, and she doesn’t have to keep doing a job that tears her apart.

In her tremors, Josh can almost hear the words that go unsaid—he can feel her exhaustion, the twisted desire for apathy. He can only hold her. Anything he could possibly say wouldn’t mean anything. Josh can only be here for Sam, and hold her while she trembles apart in his arms.

With a shuddering breath, Sam draws herself up, and he can almost see the way she pulls herself together, blinking the tears away and running a hand through her hair.

Sam seems lighter, her shoulders unbowed, and Josh hopes he may have helped, even if it was only a little.

When she kisses his cheek, the thank you is implicit, as is the uncertainty that always appears when you reveal a new part of yourself to someone. The fear of rejection, the fear of being shunned or ostracized.

Josh blushes— _fuck_ , he can’t help it, and he thinks he falls a little more in love with Sam.

_I know sometimes I only twist you_

_And maybe I'm too proud to say I missed you_

_But what if here and now, I tell you that I'm all figured out?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very hard for me to write, emotionally. I was in a rough patch at the same time, so it made everything harder to write because of how I was feeling, but I think it helped me excise what I was feeling.
> 
> Thanks so, so much for your comments!! I love y'all!!!
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), because she's bae and says nice things about my writing.
> 
> thanks also to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar), the best person ever (don't forget to check out her jossam fics!)
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	12. No Place Like Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is [No Place Like Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xww6ANGdBYc), the last song off the album Ever After. Next chapter, we'll dive into the new discography, Astoria!
> 
> One of my readers sent me this beautiful song because it reminded them of this AU, and let me just say I'm obsessed with it omg: [sick of losing soulmates](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mHUIoikgKT0)

_Familiar sins come crashing in_

_And sever forever and after._

_My old friend, it's time I leave you here_

_For what's for all in frozen alabaster._

Sam has a raging headache the next day, and she almost wishes it’s a hangover headache rather than an anxiety headache. _We don’t always get what we want_ , she thinks grumpily. _Fuck crises and fuck Star Wars._

It’s not Star Wars’ fault that Sam and Josh ended up watching two and half movies—episodes four, five, and half of six—even if by the end of it, she felt much better. Even if today she was regretting a hell of a lot of her life choices.

She texts Mike, making plans to climb this weekend, and she texts Jess, promising another vodka night soon.

Sam’s short with Melanie and Ashley—and she feels bad immediately and apologizes. They don’t deserve to take the brunt of her frustration, even if she’s currently suffering from a moral dilemma. Fuck, she doesn’t want to make a choice. Sam wants to bury her head in the sand, like one of those weird birds, and pretend that she isn’t currently assisting in a case that will fuck everyone over.

 _A choice will be made, and if I wait, I won’t be the one making the choice,_ she thinks miserably. God, she’s pathetic. Her internal voice of wisdom sounds a little like Jess and Em, fused together. _Emica. Jessem. Jemily._

Sam shoves any thoughts of weird friend fusions out of her mind before turning back to her mindless case prep.

 _Why do legal documents make me think of Josh?_ Sam asks herself.

 _Because Josh is the first person to make you think it’s okay to not continue in law,_ she answers herself.

Sam also shoves any thoughts out of her mind of watching Star Wars curled under Josh’s arm, the smell of tea and mandarin calming and enticing. _Fuck._

Sam adjusts her reading glasses and takes a deep breath. Moral dilemmas and weird-hot-neighbors aside, she has a job to do. Until she decides to quit.

She keeps typing, doing a valiant job of ignoring the ever-present knot in her stomach. Sam’s proud of herself. Here she is, compartmentalizing like a boss. Sam skims over the case notes, and her eyes automatically zero in on The Clause. The life-ruining, environmental-killing clause.

Her brief pride on compartmentalizing dissipates. Sam can’t do this for much longer—after this case, she has to quit.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s knocking on Josh’s door almost as soon as she’s changed out of her business clothes. This routine—annoying Josh after work and eating takeout on his nice couch—has become a source of comfort for her, and they’ve settled into an easy routine of banter and movies.

The dynamic shifted after he comforted her breakdowns. _Plural._ Sam hopes, her heart in her throat, that she hasn’t made things awkward between them. She remembers the painful moment after a similar anxiety attack with Claire—their interactions were stilted, and slightly off-putting, and it wasn’t long after that when Claire ended things.

Since then, she’d been better about hiding it, masking it with jokes or a quick misdirecting question—mental illness was uncomfortable to people, Sam realized. Anxiety attacks, dissociation, paranoia, suicidal thoughts, hallucination—all the ugly little bits were always glossed over in shitty soulmate romances, where the quirky one saves the sad one, as if depression could be cured by a soul mark and a quick fuck.

As if it would ever be that easy.

So she’s standing here, worrying that she’s fucked up another relationship by giving too much of herself where it isn’t wanted; by being too open and too honest and too empathetic.

When Josh opens the door, he smiles when he sees her.

Butterflies quickly untangle the knot in her stomach, and she blinks. _Butterflies?_

_Oh, dammit._

“I saw Chris and Ashley today,” Josh says, and Sam perks up. Ashley had seemed happier lately, and Sam doesn’t doubt it’s because of her pun-making soulmate. Ashley had even confided in her that he’s made dad-jokes mid-makeout session—everyone has their own turn-ons, she guesses.

“Were they being unbearably cute?”

“Oh, it was fucking disgusting. Holding hands like they were in a terrible rom-com. It was awful.”

“Honestly, I’m more surprised to hear that you leave the house. I know you _say_ you’re a film critic, but I think that you’re secretly one of those famous social media personalities, or something. I’ve never seen you in natural sunlight,” Sam jokes.

“If you bring that vampire stuff up again, I’m going to shove a piece of bacon in your mouth, Samantha,” Josh threatens. He moves around her in the tiny kitchen, pulling out glasses while she grabs the soy milk and the regular milk from the fridge. It’s a domestic dance, and they’ve learned their parts well.

“I’ve also never seen you cook, so I doubt the likelihood of that occurring.”

“I’ll have you know, I make a _mean_ casserole. It’ll knock your socks off. Also, I have a real job! I’m a film critic. I go to movie premieres, and then I rip them apart. I specialize in making old white men cry when I criticize their movies.”

Sam rests a hand on her heart, fluttering her eyelashes. “You sure know how to charm a girl, Joshua.”

He blows her a kiss and gives her a flirty little wave. The sleeve of his long sleeve shirt slides down, and she wonders how she never noticed the scar before, ugly and pinkish white, trailing up the inside of his forearm.

She doesn’t want to ask. She wants to ask. They already crossed one weird line, what’s another one? But Josh is _different._ He’s lied about his soul mark, comforted her through an anxiety attack and a panic attack, and he’s giving her mixed signals.

In the end, she doesn’t have to ask. Josh catches her stare, and hastily fixes his sleeve. He’s nervous, slumping under her gaze like a dog that’s about to be scolded.

Sam reaches out to grabs his wrist. “I guess we both have our baggage,” she says evenly.

He chuffs out a laugh. “I guess.”

“Don’t look at me like that after you got to witness my anxiety firsthand,” Sam tells him bluntly, and he looks surprised that she’s addressing the elephant in the room.

“You’re not broken,” she continues, and she tries to express her sincerity in her words. “You’re a good person, Josh.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m trying to get better, Sam. I’m not far, but I’m moving forward.”

Sam nods, and squeezes his wrist before releasing it. But Josh catches her hand before she can retreat properly, and laces their fingers together briefly.

“I’m sorry I lied,” Josh says, and her mind blanks. _What?_

What she ends up saying is, “Okay,” echoing him earlier.

“Come to a movie premiere with me. I’ll prove that I do have a real job.”

“Ok—wait, _what?_ ”

“You said that I don’t actually have a job,” Josh explains patiently. “Come with me to a movie premiere. I’ll show you what I do. And also disprove your vampire theory.”

Sam thinks she’s getting whiplash from the sudden change in subjects. Though Josh is trying to appear nonchalant, leaning against the counter like he didn’t just ask her to a movie— _what are we, thirteen? Are we gonna be supervised?—_ but the tips of his ears are red, and she can see the blush creeping up his neck. She thinks it’s endearing. She wonders when she really started caring about her ability to make Josh blush.

“Sure. Sounds fun,” Sam decides, nodding. _Fun. Except I really feel like I’m back in middle school_.

“Good. Oh, it’s black tie.”

Sam blinks. “Black tie?”

“I’m a film critic, Sammy. There’s gonna be famous people there. I mean, you can wear jeans and a tee shirt—I’m sure you’d look great even if you show up in your underwear, and I wouldn’t complain—but this is a film premiere. So it’s up to you.”

“ _Black tie?_ ” she asks again, sounding like a broken record. “But I thought—I mean—you’re a film critic.”

“I’m a film critic. In L.A. Where movie premieres happen all the time. With stars,” Josh says, and the twinkle in his eyes suggests that he’s enjoying throwing her off-kilter a little too much.

“You never mentioned you were like, a good film critic!” Sam blurts out.

“I’m offended you thought I wasn’t a good film critic,” he responds with a smirk.

God, he’s enjoying this too much. Sam resists the urge to punch his arm.

“ _You know what I mean_ , Josh. Why the fuck do you live in this shitty apartment, then?”

There’s an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere in the kitchen. Josh’s shoulders stiffen briefly, and then they relax as he takes a deep breath and exhales.

“Just for the sole purpose of meeting _you_ , Sammy.”

 

* * *

 

She ends up borrowing some ridiculously expensive dress from Jessica. It’s short, and black, and the neckline drops into a dangerously low v, decorated with gold sequins. It shows off her well-defined arms and legs, and it isn’t itchy or strapless.

He knocks on her door, like he’s picking her up for prom, and she slips on her heels and strides, a bit wobbly, to open the door.

Josh blinks, wearing the tuxedo that she saw hanging in his room once. _So_ that’s _what it’s for._

Wearing heels, she comes up to his cheekbones. It’s a little different, and her line of sight lands on his lips now, instead of his throat.

“You look nice,” she offers, because Josh seems to have settled into a facial expression akin to _gaping like a fish_.

“Uh, so do you, Sammy. You clean up nicely,” he finishes lamely.

Sam grabs her all-but uselessly tiny clutch, only able to fit her phone, wallet, and lipstick into it. But it matched her dress, and Jess insisted that tiny purses were important, or something. Sam enjoys dressing up, don’t get her wrong; she just hates the painful shoes and stupid purses that go along with it.

But here she is, dolled up ( _Fierce eyeliner,_ Jess told her. _It makes you look really hot and badass)_ and ready to go to a legitimate, L.A. movie premiere.

Sam’s a little out of her league, but she loves a challenge, so she tries to box up any nerves and jitters before striding down the stairs behind Josh.

He chatters in the car, and that’s how she can tell he’s nervous—Josh almost never makes idle chatter. He talks about the traffic, his stupid car (It’s a lexus, and she’s seen it in the apartment parking lot before, standing out sharply from the other well-worn cars parked around it), and the movie they’re seeing. It’s something to do with space, Sam deduces, but there’s a lot of space movies around now, so it’ doesn’t narrow it down much.

There’s legitimate _red carpet_ , and Sam struggles not to look shocked or surprised. It’s one of the super fancy theaters that dot Hollywood, that only _stars_ come to. _Holy shit_ , she’s out of her league.

But Josh takes her hand and tucks it in the crook of his arm. He waves to a few people she doesn’t recognize, but doesn’t stop to talk. Sam’s clutching his arm like a lifeline, and he elbows her gently.

“ _Relax,_ ” he whispers. “You look great, and everyone’s paying attention to the famous people, not you. Just watch and learn.”

Sam glances around, trying to spot the famous people he’s referring to— _oh my god, is that Matt Damon?_

She asks Josh as much, and he nods. “Yeah, weren’t you listening? He’s in this movie.”

“What the _fuck_ , Josh. I would have paid attention if you mentioned _Matt Damon_ ,” she hisses, half panicked and half intrigued as she watches the star strut around and make idle conversation with other fancy people.

“You weren’t paying attention to me in the car?” he asks, half amused and half insulted.

“There was a lot going on. I got lost when you started talking about your car,” Sam admits.

Josh looks like he’s trying to keep himself from laughing, and Sam is again struck by how good he looks in his tuxedo—not like a gangly high schooler going to prom in an ill-fitting rental tux, but like a real adult—or a real rich person, she concedes.

It’s baffling, to see him equally in his element here, on the red carpet in a tuxedo, as he is in his apartment wearing day-old pajamas and arguing about the merits of CGI in movies. It’s like Sam keeps discovering new sides to him— _comfort, scars, high-class, complex_ —and it’s enough to give her whiplash.

But Josh just grabs her hand and laces their fingers together as he guides her into the theater where the movie will be showing, past the flashing cameras and the crush of the crowd behind the barriers.

It feels natural, holding his hand, and the warmth from his hand leaves a pleasant feeling uncurling in her stomach. Sam tries not to think on it, and instead drinks in the sights around her. She spots a few people with very visible soul marks, and she feels vaguely self conscious about her up-do; her soul mark out and on display for the world to see.

Then Sam sees a man with a ‘ _Hey there’_ scrawled along his jawline, and she feels less worried about it.

They sit down in the back of the theater, and Josh pulls a notepad out of his pocket.

“I’m good at my job, Sammy, stop looking at me like that,” Josh says dryly to Sam’s incredulous look. “I like to take notes on movies I’m being paid to critique.”

The movie’s good; riveting, even, but it feels wrong to not be wearing pajamas or able to trade sarcastic barbs with Josh while the action plays out on screen. There are multiple times she has to resist leaning over and whispering something inflammatory, and the way Josh keeps glancing at her makes her think he might have the same idea.

Sam’s hyper aware of the famous people around her, and tries to be on her best behavior—despite her fidgeting. Josh eventually grabs her hand after she tapped on the armrest one too many times, and under his breath, whispers, ‘ _Relax.’_

She really does, honestly—but the pressure of staying still, wearing a tight dress and uncomfortable shoes, and not being allowed to talk makes her fidget even more. Josh tightens his grip on her hand, and Sam tries to focus on the movie.

But honestly, how can Matt Damon compare to the scent of tea and mandarins next to her, and the warmth of his hand and the minute shifts as he moves occasionally in the velvety theater seat. _God, why am I acting so weird?_ Sam thinks to herself, and tries to pretend that the person sitting next to her is a log.

A very attractive, good-smelling, tuxedo-wearing log.

 _This is going to be a_ long _movie._

 

 

* * *

 

As soon as they’re in the parking lot, Sam shucks her pinchy shoes and tries to ignore the loose gravel of the asphalt.

“You’re gonna step on glass,” Josh warns her, frowning at her when she shrugs.

“I would rather step on glass then walk another inch in those shoes,” Sam retorts.

“I’m guessing you didn’t like it, then?” he asks, attempting to be casual, but Sam can see the way he holds himself, as if he’s afraid of the answer. As if she would reject this part of him.

“The movie itself was great. Everything else was just...overwhelming, I guess. I’m not made for this,” Sam says, gesturing to herself. “I’m that crazy, rock-climbing vegan activist, not...high-class,” she finishes lamely.

Josh looks startled, and she wonders what answer he was expecting. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before Sam mutters, “Shit!”

“What?”

“I stepped on glass,” Sam admits sheepishly, lifting up her foot to get a better look at the wound.

“I can’t carry you like a princess, but I think I can manage a piggy-back ride to the car,” Josh shrugs.

“Weakling,” she teases, but Sam still hikes herself onto the proffered back. He firmly grasps her legs, his skin warm against the slight chill to the late-night air.

Josh declined the valet earlier, so they have a bit of a hike, and Sam tucks her chin against his shoulder, thoughtful.

“So, the only time you leave your house is for these movie things?”

“Not the _only_ time,” he replies wryly. “I just don’t like L.A. that much. There’s too much going on. And don’t get me started on the traffic, Sammy—if I wanted asshole drivers, I’d live in New York.”

Sam laughs at that, and then asks, slightly hesitant—“Then why not move?”

“L.A. is where the movies are, Sammy. My job ties me down a bit.”

“Josh, weren’t you the one telling me I could do whatever I wanted?”

“I want to be a movie critic,” he says, but there’s a catch in his voice.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Josh replies firmly. “I love it, I do—sometimes, I wish I had a different job, but not because of the actual critique part, but because of everything else.”

“You mean, all the fancy stuff and weird etiquette?”

“Well—yes, and no. There’s a lot of pressure,” he says carefully, and Sam has a feeling she’s not getting the whole story, but she doesn’t press. “And I feel like I’m not reaching all the expectations people set one me. That’s why I live in this shitty apartment,” Josh continues, and Sam blinks. _Talk about a non sequitur,_ she thinks.

“If it makes you feel better, you’ve definitely exceeded all my expectations,” Sam says quietly, half-joking and half-serious.

Sam’s at a disadvantage because she can’t see his face—but she hears a sharp intake of breathe and Josh tightens his grip on her legs.

“Thanks Sammy,” Josh replies, and his voice is weirdly thick. “You’ve exceeded all my expectations too.”

It’s almost sweet, and then he ruins it by adding—“Well, if it wasn’t for the vegan part. That’s kind of a deal breaker.”

Sam swats at his arm, and he laughs. They finally reach the car, and Josh sets her down. She wobbles a bit from the change in position, and her wounded foot stings a bit.

“My sweet prince,” Sam sighs mockingly. “Though what kind of prince carries a princess piggy-back style?”

“The kind who’s not a freakishly strong rock climber. But don’t I, your gracious prince, deserve a reward? A kiss from the princess, perhaps?” Josh gives her a saucy wink and puckers his lips comically.

On an obscure impulse, Sam stands on her tiptoes even though her feet are aching, and kisses him on the lips. They’re soft, and she stands there, lips pressed to his for a beat too long—but when she goes to pull away, Josh leans into her and deepens the kiss; a far cry from the short chaste kiss she intended.

Sam wraps her arms around his neck, and he pulls her closer, and he kisses like he’s trying to memorize the taste of her lips. She breaks the kiss first, and for a moment suspended in time, they stare at each other, faces equally flushed.

Sam can’t keep the silence, and she begins laughing. Here she is, in the parking lot of a famous Hollywood movie theater, kissing her weird-hot-neighbor.

“That wasn’t the reward I had in mind, but I think I lucked out,” Josh says in an attempt to be suave and unaffected but he still has her pulled flush to him.

“Take me home, prince charming,” Sam laughs, and gives him a gentle shove. “Tofutti ice cream is calling my name.”

_Once upon a time_

_This place was beautiful and mine_

_But now it's just a bottom line_

_(There's no) yellow bricks and happily ever after we lived._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens in this chapter! Yay!
> 
> For all my American readers, happy almost Thanksgiving! Because I will be roped into helping out while I'm on break because we host our family, this will be the only chapter this week. Hopefully, the break will let me finish chapter 17&18, the last chapters of the fic. 
> 
> I love hearing what you guys think in the comments, please keep up the enthusiasm!! 
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), even when she makes me watch sad movies (still crying over Pan's Labyrinth, tbh)
> 
> thanks also to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for always supporting me on this very long fic-journey!
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	13. This Means War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is [This Means War](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Q3xcrBDAfE), my favorite song of their new album!

_But that’s not what I came for, my amour_

_I hate to admit it but I miss the war_

_Gotta get you under fire, quick_

Sam can’t quite put her finger on why, but things _change_ after the movie premiere. (Okay, she can put her finger on it—it’s definitely because they locked lips). It’s not that things are awkward; in fact, they’re the opposite. She’ll cuddle up with Josh on the couch, and he’ll lift his arm so she can curl underneath, tucked against him. When she says goodnight, he’ll give her a mindless kiss on the forehead, like it’s a blasé routine that doesn’t set her heart fluttering.

But they don’t talk about it—it’s a taboo topic, the forbidden fruit. If they talk about it, they’ll be forced to define whatever their relationship is, and it’s certainly passed the typical platonic line. It’s enough to give Sam a headache, but she’s got enough on her plate to deal with without having to put a name to whatever she and Josh have together.

 _For now, ‘cuddle buddies’ is as apt a name as anything else_ , Sam supposes.

So it surprises her when on a Saturday, Josh knocks on her door at an hour that’s positively _frightening_ for him: nine in the morning.

“You’re never up before eleven,” Sam comments when she opens the door. Josh is dressed in real pants for once— _sweatpants are real pants, Sammy, just like leggings are_ —and looks like he plans on actually leaving the apartment complex.

“Yeah, well, I need coffee. Real coffee. Some of that fancy shit you can only get from cafes, until I buy an espresso machine and learn how to use it,” Josh replies, hands stuffed in his pockets, like he’s nervous or something—

 _Is he asking me on a date?_ Sam thinks, shocked. _Holy shit, I think he is._

“Count me in as long as it’s local and not Starbucks. Local stores are better for the economy!” Sam tells him, and the tension eases out of his shoulders.

“You’re too good of a person, Sammy. I’m practically the grinch next to you,” he complains, leaning back against the doorframe as she slides on her shoes and grabs her bag.

“Shop responsibly, eat responsibly, live responsibly!” she recites, echoing what her mother told her hundreds of times. Sam tries to shut down that train of thought—the most communication she’s had with her mom lately has been a few stilted text messages; she has enough on her plate to deal with outside of her parents’ divorce.

Besides—Emily’s words have stuck with her. Her mom wouldn’t have made this decision if it wasn’t well thought out, and as painful as it may be, Sam has to trust her mother. Even if it hurts.

Sam tries not to think about how many relationships ended because of differing soulmates and soul marks as she and Josh walk to one of the many local kitschy coffee shops around. It’s about a twenty minute walk, but it’s easier than trying to drive and parallel park on the streets.

She’ll never admit it, but she may have dented her mother’s car her first time trying to parallel park and then blamed it on the neighbors. _Some secrets are taken to the grave_ , Sam recalls morosely.

“My sisters have been bugging me,” Josh says, interrupting a rapidly spiraling train of thought involving parking and lies. “They think I never leave my apartment, and they keep harassing me about it.”

“Well, they’re not wrong,” Sam replies with a grin, and Josh huffs at her.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he complains. “You don’t understand. Siblings are evil. They know all your dirty secrets and are fucking vicious when it comes to throwing shade. My poor, delicate heart can’t handle all this bullying.”

Sam pats his chest, over his heart. “There there, Josh’s heart,” she coos, “stay strong in the face of adversity.” The affronted look on Josh’s face sends her into peals of laughter, and try as she might, Sam can’t stop.

She’s still laughing when they reach the coffee shop, the little bells on the door tinkling to announce their arrival. They’ve caught the store on a quick break between waves, so there’s only a few people in line while Josh and Sam ponder the menu.

Sam ends up ordering a vegan chai and Josh gets a drink that’s sure to give him cavities, with extra pumps caramel sauce and vanilla syrup. She doesn’t say anything, simply sips her chai and raises her eyebrows as the barista rattles off Josh’s order.

“What?” he asks defensively, snatching the whip-cream covered monstrosity off the counter.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Josh is about to retort when a achingly familiar voice calls out Sam’s name. She’s already turning reflexively when the voice processes in her auditory memory, heart tightening painfully.

Claire stands behind her like a ghost from her past—aside from her hair now only reaching to her shoulders, Claire looks almost the same; blonde, tan, confident, beautiful—a true California girl.

“Claire!” Sam manages to say, the name foreign from disuse on her tongue.

Claire sweeps Sam into a hug, and Sam does her best to return it—with slightly less enthusiasm than Claire, she’ll admit—without losing her vegan chai.

“It’s been so long,” Claire says, voice syrupy and sweet. “How are you?”

Sam can’t help but think that Claire’s smile is forced, almost, and she has to wonder if it’s from lingering guilt over their breakup or from other ghosts.

“Good,” Sam says, forcing her voice to match Claire’s. “I’ve been really good.”

“And this is…?” Claire asks, looking over Sam’s shoulder to study a slightly alarmed and confused Josh.

“Josh. He’s my neighbor,” Sam replies. “And Josh, this is... Claire,” she supplies, unhelpfully.

“Her ex,” Claire adds.

_Well, there goes any attempt at subtlety._

“Ex girlfriend?” Josh echoes, half-question half-confusion.

Sometimes, Sam forgets that she has to come out to people. Her friends and family all know, so whenever she meets a new person, it’s easy to forget that they don’t know she’s bisexual. When she opens her mouth to address this issue, Claire cuts in.

“Why don’t we sit and catch up for a bit?”

 _‘Fuck no,’_ is what Sam would like to say. She contemplates a nice, passive aggressive, _‘I have other plans,’_ or maybe a _‘I wouldn’t want your soulmate to get the wrong impression,’_ but what instead pops out of her mouth is an, “Okay.”

She’s always been a little weak-willed when it comes to Claire, anyway.

Josh looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, and Sam can’t blame him—she wouldn’t want to be stuck between her friend and their awful ex, either.

But surprisingly, the conversation remains tame, if a little stilted. Jobs, families, and friends are all briefly discussed—Claire is working in Silicon Valley with a few tech-startups, and her soulmate is still in the picture.

And then—“I miss you,” Claire says softly, sliding a hand over Sam’s. “And I’m sorry.”

_Abort mission._

Sam jolts upwards, knocking over her empty cup.

“I need to go. Great seeing you. Come on, Josh,” she manages to force out, sentences clipped as her hand curls around Josh and tugs.

_Could I be any more awkward?_

They’re two blocks away from the coffee shop— _never going there again, ever_ —before Josh says anything.

“It’s a relief to know you’re not perfect, Sammy. Now I don’t feel as bad about being a piece of shit,” he comments conversationally, and Sam looks at him sharply. She also notices she’s still clutching Josh’s hand, but when she begins to let it go he simply grabs it.

“I mean, even you can flounder in front of an ex. Supergirl does have a kryptonite.”

“Hardy har, Josh. I just made a fool of myself in front of my ex girlfriend, and now I really never want to see her again. Well, I never wanted to see her again originally, but now she knows I’m really a bumbling loser,” Sam says, voice dejected.

Sure, she could remain confident in front of everyone except her ex—and deep down, Sam knows that Claire’s opinion really doesn’t matter, but the sting of rejection hasn’t really lessened over time.

“Sam, I don’t think anyone would ever call you a bumbling loser. You climb mountains as a hobby, and save the environment as a job. You’re a vegan, a responsible consumer, and you’re _practically_ a candidate for sainthood. I mean, I don’t actually know anything about religion, so I’m not sure of the _exact_ qualifications for sainthood, but I’d fight Saint Peter to prove you’re a saint.” Josh says, and his voice is earnest and his words deliberate.

“Thanks Josh, but you don’t need to fight any saints. Claire’s just... really, the first time I was totally disillusioned about soul marks. Even though my parents weren’t soulmates, it was kind of abstract for me as a kid. But Claire dumped me because she met her soulmate, even though she didn’t know anything about her—just because society told her that’s what you do when you meet your soulmate. You drop _everything_ for them, and that’s just not _right_ ,” Sam grinds out, frustrated.

“Soulmates don’t mean everything is going to automatically work out, or that any other relationship is useless, and I hate that society seems to think that, because we’re just making ourselves miserable trying to conform to those standards.”

“You’re right,” Josh says, and the world stops spinning for a moment. “It’s a shitty standard to impose on anyone, and I’m sorry that your ex dumped you like that—but you deserve better than her, anyways, soulmate or not,” and he swallows, throat working as he struggles for the right words. “And I think, if anyone were to start a soulmate revolution, it would definitely be you, Sammy. You could rally the troops, if anyone.”

Sam lets out a quiet laugh. “I’ll consider that in my line of job options, a revolutionary leader.”

“It’d look real nice on your resume, you know. Samantha Kamkin: Revolutionary Leader,” Josh says with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “I can just see the movies being made about you now. Hayden Panettiere would play you, and Rami Malek would play me—”

“Why would Ahkmenrah play you?”

“What? No, Sammy. _Elliot_. From Mr. Robot. We’re hoodie twins,” he exclaims, picking at the black jacket he’s currently wearing. “We’re practically identical.”

Sam snorts. “If you have super secret hacking skills, mind hacking into Claire’s facebook and posting dumb statuses?”

“Sammy, I will prank _anyone_ for you, including your weird, cheerleader ex.”

“How’d you know she was a cheerleader?” Sam asks curiously, tilting her head. That never came up in their awkward conversation, and even though she’d rather block the memory she’s pretty sure she’d remember if it’d came up.

“She just gave of the _vibe_ , you know? A cheerleader vibe,” Josh shrugs.

“I do have a question, though,” he adds after a moment of contemplative silence. “We’re you a jock? I can just imagine, the beautiful jock/cheerleader romance, and makeouts under the bleachers—”

Sam elbows him. “ _Enough_ , Josh, or I’m going to find a way to get in touch with your sisters and get them to tell me all of your embarrassing stories.”

Josh shrugs and slides his arm around Sam’s shoulder, kissing her temple briefly. “Good luck getting them off the topic of how we met, Sammy. They’ll eat that up.”

_Brace for it_

_I’d rather be a riot than indifferent_

_Oh, this means war_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Claire Bennet appears!
> 
> Also, I'm almost done with this fic, but everything is really crazy with school and work, so the updates might be a bit spotty. I'll do my best though!
> 
> Thanks for all the kind comments, keep it up! It encourages me a lot.
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), for dealing with me being super stressed all the time. Whoops.
> 
> thanks also to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for being amazing even when she has to deal with mean old british people.
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	14. While We're Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is [While We're Young](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ZS2-4-iUJ4).

_The way your words hang in the moment suspended when_

_You say something you can’t take back again_

_A heavy hush takes hold_

_The quiet won’t let go_

It’s a week until The Case, and the twisting, treacherous ball of anxiety in the pit of Sam’s stomach has started to sink its roots into her lungs and her heart, crippling her with fear and nervous anger.

Sam has two missed calls from Jess, three unanswered texts from Mike, and five unanswered texts from Emily—but she can’t answer them, not now; not when she can’t even pretend to be okay over the phone.

Everything seems to compound all at once—her mother keeps trying to get in touch with her, Ashley and Melanie are both annoyingly persistent when it comes to how she’s handling the case, and her platonically seesawing relationship with Josh demands to be dealt with using the kind of time and energy she can’t scrounge up.

And god, Sam knows Josh is concerned—she can see the way he looks at her from the corner of his eyes when they eat dinner, he can see it in the way she comments less on whatever they’re watching.

And maybe, a different time, she could confide in him—but the circles under his eyes suggest he’s been struggling, too. The last thing Sam wants to do is burden Josh with her own petty issues when he’s got enough on his own plate.

Maybe she has her own, selfish reasons—sharing is _hard._ Sam doesn’t want to peel back her hard shell and let her soft, vulnerable underbelly be exposed. It’s easier to curl up and shut down than it is to face the issues.

Is it unhealthy? _Yes_. Does it work? _Maybe._ Is she likely to change her ways anytime soon? _Hell no_.

Sam walks down the block slowly. The parking garage closest to the office is a good two blocks away, but it’s better than trying to parallel park by the office and risk her car getting hit by the crazy L.A. traffic. Her phone rings, and it’s an automatic reflex to tap the answer key without checking the caller ID.

“Samantha?”

“Oh, hi mom,” Sam says tiredly. She’s been doing a good job dodging her mom’s calls, but she guesses there comes a time when the piper has to be paid.

“I’ve been trying to catch you for a while now, honey. Has work been busy?” her mom asks, and Sam thinks she can hear the sounds of water running and dishes clinking in the background.

“Yeah, we have a big case next week. I’ve been working overtime for it.”

“I’m worried you work too hard, Samantha. You won’t even notice life passing you by until you’re middle aged and you’re forced to slow down, like me!” her mom chides, laughing a little awkwardly at the end.

“After this case I’ll take some time off,” Sam promises her. _Permanently. I have to quit this job._

“Sounds great! I was hoping that we’d be able to see each other. James is taking a business trip to L.A., and I was planning on coming with him. I was hoping we’d all be able to get dinner one night, so you could meet him?” she asks, voice cautious and hopeful.

Instinctively, Sam wants to shout ‘ _No!’_ into the phone and hang up, but Emily’s words seep into her mind. She has to believe her mom is making the right decision, and even though it’s hard that her mom is getting divorced, Sam still loves her.

“Sure, mom.” Sam manages to say, trying to force her voice into cheerfulness.

“Feel free to bring someone, if it makes you feel better. I’d love to meet one of your friends,” her mom encourages.

“I’ll let you know if I do. Text me when you’ll be in town, but I’ve gotta drive home now.” Sam says, holding the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she digs around in her purse for her car keys.

“Love you, honey,” her mom tells her, voice soft over the phone. Sam’s resistance melts a little. She loves her mom, regardless of everything that’s happened.

“Love you too, mom,” Sam replies, unlocking her car and dropping her phone on the passenger seat. She leans her head against the headrest and closes her eyes. _God_ , she’s tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Sam lies to herself that she’ll text Jess, Mike, and Em back later. Right now, she has to focus on driving home and not falling asleep at the wheel. She has leftovers in the fridge and a new episode of _New Girl_ recorded. Maybe she’ll even get into bed at a reasonable time.

 _And maybe pigs will fly, too_ , she scoffs internally. _One goal at a time._

 

* * *

 

Someone knocks on her door that night, and she only curls deeper into the couch at the sound. Sam can’t face Josh right now, not like this. He’s already witnessed two of her attacks, and he’s got his own problems to deal with. The knock sounds again, and Sam pulls the pillow tighter against her stomach, trying to control her breathing rhythm.

_Maybe tomorrow night, Josh._

Sam thinks of the scar on his arm and the shadows under his eyes. She won’t be responsible for pulling him back down. She’ll face him again when she’s sure of herself— _diligent, considerate, adventurous_ Sam. Not _shaking, anxious, scared_ Sam.

The knock sounds again, for the third time, and she feels like that’s a biblical reference. Peter denies Jesus three times, and Sam ignores three knocks. Same thing, really.

 

* * *

 

_Sam [5:54 AM]: Mike will you come to dinner with me and my mom and her new soulmate_

_Mike [5:54 AM]: Why don’t u ask ur weird hot neighbor_

_Sam [5:57 AM]: Did Jess gossip with u_

_Mike [5:58 AM]: ...maybe_

_Mike [5:58 AM]: Don’t tell her i told u_

_Sam [6:00 AM]: Come to dinner and it’s a deal_

Sam had slept badly, and decided to bite the bullet and get up early to run. It feels better than she expected to have her muscles burning. When she hobbles up the stairs, calves leaden, she tries to pretend Josh’s door isn’t there, and squish down any guilt.

 

* * *

 

The groceries in her arms threaten to tumble out as she struggles to unlock her door. How long will it take her to cook dinner? Damn, it’ll probably be ten before she can even eat.

“Need a hand?”

Her heart clenches a little. _So much for avoidance._ “Yes, please,” she sighs, and Josh takes the keys out of her hand and unlocks her door with ease.

Josh doesn’t look much better than she feels, but she unloads her groceries in silence as he leans against her kitchen table.

“Are you avoiding me, Sammy?”

“No.” Sam lies, the word sour in her mouth.

“I thought _I_ was supposed to be the crazy liar,” Josh says with a bitter little laugh, and she hates the sound.

“Well, Josh, I’m sorry to be such a _disappointment_ ,” Sam snaps, dumping the pasta into a pot on the stove. She’s craving carbs, and she’s craving them _now._

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Josh retorts, but his brows are furrowed like he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.

Sam stares at the boiling water, trying to gauge how much time the pasta will need.

“I’m fucked up, Sam,” he says softly, and it’s not what she expected him to say. Sam needs to learn that Josh will never say what she thinks—he’s complex like that.

“So am I, Josh.”

“That’s—not the point,” Josh sighs, voice exasperated. _This_ catches her attention, and Sam looks back up at him. He’s pacing, movements jerky and unsure.

“I thought—I think we have something,” he says abruptly. “But fuck, Sammy, I’m crazy, and I can’t read subtext to save my life if it’s not on the silver screen. Am I reading this wrong? Are you avoiding me because I’m reading this wrong? Sammy, I like spending time with you, so just—tell me if I’m wrong. And I know it’s shitty of me to say this, ‘cause I lied about my soul mark—but god, Sammy, I just,” Josh swallows thickly, trying to come up with words. “I’m just not ready, yet.”

The pasta’s done, so Sam pours it into a colander over the sink as she mulls over what Josh said.

“We do have something. You’re not reading this wrong. I really want to see wherever _this_ goes, at whatever pace it goes at. I was kind of pissed about the soul mark shit, and I still kinda am, but I’m willing to wait for you to be ready to talk about it. Also, you’re also not crazy,” she says, rinsing the pasta and then dumping it back into the pot, and pouring some of her stupidly expensive vegan spaghetti sauce over it.

“I’m avoiding you because you’re dealing with enough. I’m not asking what stuff,” Sam says, forestalling Josh who had opened his mouth to retaliate. “And I’m dealing with stuff, and the last thing you need is me messing up your recovery, Josh.”

Sam stirs the pasta and the sauce, and grabs two plates out of the cupboard. She dumps generous portions in both and grabs two forks.

Handing one plate and fork to Josh, Sam leans against the counter and digs into her dish. Josh is obviously contemplating a response, so she contents herself with her hot spaghetti.

“Now, Sam, I may not be the expert on healthy relationships, but I think that’s selfish.”

Sam jerks her head up, frowning at Josh around mouthful of pasta. Because her mother raised a lady, Sam chews and swallows before responding to Josh.

“I think selfish is stretching it. I can handle everything, I’m fine, and you’ve already seen two of my attacks and I just don’t want to burden you.”

“Fuck, Sammy, I don’t get it. Why am I allowed to have issues but you aren’t? You’re not perfect,” Josh says, gesturing impatiently with his hands. “and I’m not asking you to be. Do you want to save me, or some shit, so you can pretend you’re not dealing with anything?”

Sam sets her fork down, deliberately and precisely. “That’s too far, Josh. I don’t want to ‘save you,’ because you don’t need _saving_. You can’t save people. You can help them, but only when they _ask for it_ ,” Sam tells him sharply, glaring up at him.

He doesn’t back down. “Are you not asking for help because you’re afraid of burdening me, or because you’re afraid to let someone in?”

Sam visibly recoils at this. _How did he…?_

But Josh keeps going, every word a knife twist. “Because if it’s the first, I’m not weak, Sammy, and I’m insulted that you think I’m some fragile freak who needs to be protected. And if it’s the second, then I can’t keep going with a relationship if you insist on not telling me anything. That’s not how it works, Sam.”

He leaves, taking the plate of spaghetti with him. Josh doesn’t slam the door, but the quiet click of the latch feels worse than any door slam could.

She’s angry, she’s sad, she’s conflicted. Josh is right. Josh is wrong. Josh is being a dick. Josh is being a dick who’s right. _Fuck._

 _He’s at least right about the last part_ , Sam concedes. A relationship has to have open and honest communication—thanks, social psychology professor—and Sam hadn’t been very open or honest.

But Josh lied about his soul mark, which is also a shitty basis for a relationship.

Sam takes another bite of her pasta.

Okay, so maybe they’ve both fucked up. Josh took the pasta plate, so that means he intends on returning it, which means he still wants to see her again. That might be a stretch, but it’s all that’s keeping Sam from curling up on the floor, so she’ll take it.

And Sam doesn’t think Josh is weak—she just wants to protect him from her issues. _Okay, I can see how that might come across as me thinking he’s too weak to handle it._

 _So, Josh is right about two things_ , she concedes again.

Sam finishes her pasta, puts her plate in the sink, and runs a hand through her hair.

Sam ends up washing the dishes in the sink, putting away the leftover pasta, and setting up coffee for tomorrow morning before she gathers the courage to do what she needs to do.

She marches across the hall and knocks on the door. Sam hears him shuffle towards it, but he only opens it a crack, and she’s forcefully reminded of the first time they met as she stares at his eye through the crack in the door, the chain of the lock pulled taut.

“You’re right,” Sam admits.

“What?”

“I wanted to protect you from my issues, but not because I think you’re weak, but because it’s hard to let people in. I’m sorry,” she says honestly, and her voice cracks a little. _No crying, god, not now,_ Sam thinks, but tears are beginning to line her lashes.

“I’m just really overwhelmed with everything, and I’m a dirty rotten hypocrite because I tell everyone they can lean on me and that asking for help isn’t weak when I’m too selfish to do the same. But you’re also a hypocrite, because relationships have to be two-way communication, and you lied about your soul mark,” Sam finishes, voice wobbly as the tears begin to stream a little faster now.

The door shuts.

It reopens after a moment, and Josh crushes her against his chest. “I guess we can be hypocrites together, Sammy. If you’ll have me,” he says, hoarsely. “I’m sorry too. I lashed out—I was scared of rejection and took it out on you.”

Sam laughs, a little watery. “How could I reject a guy who hates Air Bud as much as I do?”

They stand there in the doorway for a few minutes until Sam manages to stop crying. When she prys herself from Josh’s chest, she notices his face is a little wet, too.

Sam takes a deep breath and steels herself.

“Will you come out to dinner with me, my mom, and her new soulmate?”

“What?”

“She said I should invite someone, and at first I was going to invite Mike... but in the name of open communication, I’m cordially inviting you to be my awkward date with my mom and her new soulmate that she divorced my dad to be with.” Sam says this with a straight face, and Josh blinks at her.

“You asked Mike first?”

“ _That’s_ what you’re focusing on?”

“Well, yeah Sammy. I’m kinda insulted. I buy you _soymilk._ ” Josh sounds so offended that Sam bursts into laughter.

“I also have some of that disgusting-ass tofutti ice cream in the freezer if you want some,” Josh says, opening the door and gesturing for her to come in.

“Oh, consider me officially bribed. You’re _much_ better than Mike,” Sam tells him with a grin.

_Sam [11:33 PM]: Don’t need u to come to dinner with my mom_

_Mike [11:35 PM]: Did u ask weird hot neighbor?_

_Mike [11:35 PM]: Wait til I tell Jess_

_So sing it back if you’re with me_

_I wanna hear how your heart speaks_

_While we’re young, while we’re young_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just joshin' you, this is the song: [While We're Young](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzbPHsmuatE). My roommate bullied me into this.
> 
> Emotions are talked with in this chapter! amazing.
> 
> Also, exams start Tuesday, so that's why i've been so absent. I've got a crazy queue set up on my tumblr, so if you need to get in touch with me comment on my fics (lmao sorry, tumblr is just too distracting right now.) I'm also struggling with the last chapter, but it will get written.
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), for watching weird stucky au amvs with me for like two hours.
> 
> thanks also to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for being beautiful and salty.
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	15. Dearly Departed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is [Dearly Departed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKzQCexQ-dY), my second favorite song off the album.

_Every masterpiece I'd write again_

_You'll always be my porcelain_

_I crossed my heart, but I stuttered too_

_So truth or dare, was I good to you?_

Sam stares at the pamphlet she’s pulled out of her purse. It’s a little crumpled and creased, but she flips it open anyways on her lunch break as she half-heartedly pokes at a salad.

She glances around furtively, though reading over pamphlets isn’t a crime, unless this is 1984. But the words “Be a Park Ranger” emblazoned on the front make her feel guilty—it’s all fun and games to dream about changing your job, but in reality it feels a lot like giving up.

Her phone buzzes, and there’s a new message from _Josh Neighbor_.

_Josh Neighbor [1:12 PM]: how up 2 date are u on meme culture?_

Sam snorts into her salad, typing back a quick response and then returning her attention to the pamphlet. Everything on here seems doable, and that’s the worst part—it wouldn’t be hard to change her job. But the idea of falling short of the expectations of family, friends, and coworkers defies every part of her being, even as having to work against her morals winds her anxiety into a tightened ball of stress and self-loathing.

_Josh Neighbor [1:15 PM]: I cannot believe u think rage comics r still popular. Ur worse than my sister_

It wouldn’t take to long to get the proper Red Cross certification, and she’s definitely fit enough to pass the tests, as long as she keeps up her current routine of a daily run and climbing on the weekends.

“Hey Sam, have a sec?” Ashley’s voice is a lot closer than she expected, and Sam scrambles to shove the pamphlet in her bag, adding to its already impressive list of wrinkles on the previously immaculate glossy surface. Whoops.

“Yeah!” Sam calls back, turning as Ashley comes into the lunchroom, claiming the empty seat next to Sam.

“I need some advice,” Ashley says, fiddling with the ends of her hair. “Uh, personal advice.”

“Wear protection,” Sam advises. Obviously, she’s been spending too much time with the professional pervert, Josh. She’ll never admit it, but he’s rubbing off on her.

Ashley flushes. “Not that kind of advice. And I know, god, I’ve been intimate with a man before, Sam.”

“Sorry, sorry—I think Josh is rubbing off on me,” she laughs, and Ashley’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

“After you give me some serious, not-sex-related advice, I’m definitely going to need to hear about how _hot-weird-neighbor_ Josh is. Anyways, I want to go on a weekend vacation with Chris to the mountains, but I’m not sure how to ask without sounding like I’m moving too fast?”

Ashley’s in full worrying mode, alternating between  rubbing her thumb over her bold soul mark and tweaking the ends of her hair.

Sam leans forward, grabbing the hand that Ashley’s using to play with her hair and placing it on the table. “Ash, you’re one of the smartest people I know, and you’re overthinking this. Chris is head over heels for you, but sometimes you both can be so oblivious about it. Just buy some tickets. Leave them on his kitchen table with a nice simple note, and surprise him! He’ll love it, I swear.”

“But—isn’t this moving too fast? We’ve only known each other for a month or so…”

“Ash, you’re asking him to go on a weekend trip with you, not get married. It can be as casual or romantic as you think it should be,” Sam says, falling into the advice-giving role like a familiar pre-workout stretch.

Ashley nods, and brightens a little. “He did mention he wants to visit San Francisco and do some touristy stuff there, since he’s never gotten the chance.”

Sam smiles encouragingly. “Just do it! It’ll be fun, and no-strings attached. It’s just a weekend.”

“Now, Sam, I think _you_ might need some advice,” Ashley says, voice turning sly. “Tell me how things with _Josh_ are?”

Sam flushes a little. “We’re, ah, _something_ , I think,” she admits. “I’m not sure what.”

“Something?”

“He still hasn’t really told me about his soul mark, and that’s kind of frustrating. But I can tell he’s not doing to hurt me, and I think he’s definitely got some baggage tied to it, but it’s hard because I know he has a soul mark, and I think it’s throwing us off balance, a little bit,” Sam says, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can help it.

It feels good to verbalize her worry, and Ashley’s face furrows a little.

“It’s understandable,” Ashley starts, “but please don’t end whatever you guys have because of it. Sometimes, there are things we just can’t talk about until we’re further into a relationship, because you have to have a certain level of intimacy to deal with it, you know? There’s stuff I know Chris hasn’t told me, and stuff I definitely haven’t told him, but we’ll get there. Just...don’t let that ruin it. I haven’t seen you this happy in a while,” she confesses.

“When did you get so wise?” Sam says, nudging Ashley with her shoulder. “I thought I was supposed to be the mom friend.”

“So the student becomes the teacher,” Ashley quotes solemnly, eyes twinkling.

“I guess so,” Sam laughs, and tries not to think about the pamphlet sitting in her purse, proclaiming possibilities outside of the legal world.

 

* * *

 

Josh stands in the bathroom, shirtless, trying to crane his neck so he can stare at the block of text on his back, inked in Sam’s now-familiar scrawl.

 _How do you tell the girl that you might love, and the girl who’s so jaded over soulmates that_ you’re _her soulmate_ , he wonders.

The little white lie Josh told when he could’ve sworn he’d never get involved with his soulmate came back to bite him in the ass. How was he supposed to know she’d be perfect, she’d be flawed, and she’d inspired him to work harder to get better?

Josh would die before he’d tell her—seeing the way that Sam struggles with her own baggage, and the way she triumphs anyways kindles something deep within him—hope. A foreign concept.

Josh stares at the text on his back like it might be the key to the universe: _Hi, I’m your neighbor and there’s a man in my apartment and he was trying to steal my stuff and I knocked him out with my bat and please, please let me in because I need to call the police and my phone is dead._

The words are crowded and take up over two-thirds of the available real-estate on his back, stretching from halfway down his shoulder blades to dangerously dipping into “tramp stamp” region.

He’s hated the words, and he’s loved them—depending on the day, depending on the moment, depending on the position of the moon and the pull of the tides.

_How do I tell her?_

He can’t, not now—the relationship is too fragile and new to risk shattering any progress they’ve made, though Josh knows Sam hates not knowing about his soul mark. It’s a transgression he’ll never be able to forgive himself for, but Josh isn’t willing to fuck up this fragile _something_ just to clean his slate.

Sam wants him, even if he’s not able to tell her the full truth yet—so he’ll wait, bearing the burden of the lie until the time is right.

Well, until the time is better. There’s no good time to tell someone that you’ve been their soulmate the whole time and just didn’t tell them.

His fist clenches unwillingly. Fuck, he can’t keep this up. His demons like to whisper to him, in the night sometimes—it’s hard to tell what’s from his fucked up brain and what’s from the neurotypical guilt that he should feel over this.

 _Liarliarliarliarliarliar_.

He makes a mental note to call his therapist—Josh has an appointment with her in two weeks, but so much has happened—he should push it up. She wanted to check how the new dosage is working, anyways.

Josh finally gives up his staring contest with his tattooed back and slips into a shirt, checking his phone.

_Bat-girl Sam [1:16 PM]: Don’t be mean. Old memes are still good._

_Josh Neighbor [1:20 PM]: Sammy. wtf. i cannot believe u._

Sam doesn’t text back for a while, and Josh gets to work on his most recent film review, the cursor blinking at him on the document. The film was trite, and it would be easy enough to write a scathing review, but his editor wouldn’t like it. He tries to think of the positives, and he gets a text.

_Hannah [1:34 PM]: Come home and visit us!!! U never come for dinner or anything :(_

_Joshy [1:37 PM]: Maybe next weekend?_

_Joshy [1:38 PM]: Can i bring someone?_

_Hannah [1:40 PM]: !!!!_

Before he can even type out a reply, his phone is playing the x files theme—his ringtone.

“Josh?? Did you meet your soulmate?” Hannah gushes as soon as he picks up the phone.

“Han, it’s complicated. But, I’m meeting her mom soon, and I figured I should bring her home before mom and dad find out through someone else. I brought her to a film premiere a little bit ago,” Josh offers, because he knows Hannah won’t quit bugging him until he gave her some tidbit.

(Everyone thinks Beth is the resident badass of the family, but they’d be wrong. Hannah goes after what she wants with the intensity of a bulldog. Hannah is far scarier and awe-inspiring than Beth.)

“Oh,” Hannah says, disappointed. She’s always been a bit of a romantic, and it’s hard not to be when your soul mark proclaims, ‘ _I’ve been looking for you my whole life.’_ It’s a lot more romantic than Beth’s—‘ _Nice beanie, asshole,’_ but it doesn’t stop Beth from wearing beanies during every season except summer.

“But anyways, totally bring her to dinner! Before dad finds out you’ve been taking mystery girls to movie showings,” she advises.

Josh made his bid for independence a few years ago, but it doesn’t stop his parents from trying to know everything about his life, even resorting to asking some of their other film friends to check up on him when he attended showings. It was frustrating, to be treated like a child—hence, the shitty apartment in L.A.

Ah, freedom.

“I will, once we figure some stuff out, I think,” Josh hedges. Not a promise he could be held to, if he decides that pushing off the inevitable is appealing. (It almost always is.)

“Well, if you don’t, come visit soon,” Hannah says softly. Damn, he couldn’t say no to his little sister. Fuck this.

“I will,” Josh promises.

“I know...I’m not Beth,” she says, and Josh heart clenches. _What is that supposed to mean?_

“I know you tell her stuff you don’t tell me, for whatever reason—but I’m not blind, Josh. I love you, and I knew something was wrong. But you sound...better. And I’m happy, but I’m worried too, Josh. I just...come visit. I want to see you,” Hannah tells him.

Josh wonders when he forgot exactly how smart and observant his sister is.

“I am getting better, Han. I’m trying to, so don’t worry.”

“I’ll always worry, stupid. See you soon?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

 

* * *

 

“I think I want to become a park ranger?”

Josh looks up from the dish he’s attempting to rinse. (Attempting, because Sam forgot to use non-stick spray so the leftover food was rapidly congealing to the bottom of the pan. But he won’t complain, because Sam cooked for him, and it was actually kind of sweet.)

Sam’s curled up on his couch, finishing up some case notes for The Case tomorrow. Her reading glasses are perched on her nose, and she looks adorable with her brow scrunched up like that.

He’s tempted to make a joke about Yogi Bear or something, but the look on her face tells him it’s not the time.

“You’d get to be in nature, and you love that shit.”

“By saving the environment, we’re saving our future!” she scolds him, glancing up from her notes to glare at him from over the top of her reading glasses.

“Spare me the spiel, Sammy. What I’m trying to say, is that I think you’d be a great park ranger. You’d be happier, and you’d get to help other people experience what makes _you_ happy,” Josh says, dropping the dish in the sink to soak. He sits next to her on the couch, sliding the case notes out of her hands.

“But park ranger, senator, waitress, pastry chef, stunt double—you deserve to be happy. You don’t have to stay in that job if you’re miserable, and fuck, my therapist is always reminding me that my mental health comes first.”

Sam chuckles, and it’s a little watery.

“Man, I thought I was supposed to be the wise one. Both you _and_ Ash have been showing me that I’m not the only one who can turn into the Mom Friend,” she tells him, rubbing her eyes under her glasses.

Josh puts an arm around her, savoring the fact that he even can. He’s allowed to be in her life like this, he’s allowed to be flawed, and he’s allowed to remind her that she’s allowed to be flawed.

“What did I do to get such an awesome neighbor?” Sam says teasingly, patting his knee.

“It’s probably ‘cause you’re vegan,” Josh tells her seriously, causing her to laugh again.

Sam kisses his cheek and tucks her head against his shoulder, rubbing mindless circles on his knee.

“Thanks for being in my life,” Sam murmurs, and Josh stares at the top of her blonde head, trying to figure out how to respond to that.

_Haven't had enough of you all to myself_

_Still right beside you, in sickness and health_

_For ever after_

_You will be my home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the erratic updates, exams have been kicking my ass. I have everything finished except for the epilogue, and that might have to wait until after break, because I have wisdom teeth surgery and then I have to finish an internship project. Also, to be honest, I'm juts kind of all written out. I have very little motivation to finish the last chapter, and I feel so bad, but god am I tired. Even if 18 is up late, 17 wraps up all the important stuff, I just like writing flash-forward epilogues. Thanks for sticking with me on the journey so far, y'all!
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), for watching weird stucky au amvs with me for like two hours.
> 
> thanks also to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for being beautiful and salty.
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	16. And Straight On Til Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is [And Straight On Til Morning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yyZqA-UEOI), a short instrumental in between the songs "Forget Me Not" and "The End of an Era," because this chapter is kind of set up for the next chapter.
> 
> Sorry for the accidental hiatus, between wisdom teeth surgery, exams, finishing up a project for my internship, and family in town for Christmas, I've barely had time to breathe. The story is finished on my end, it's just a matter of uploading chapters. Thank you so much for your patience and your encouragement, it means so much to me.

Sam takes comfort in the familiarity of this relationship during the most innocuous moments. She’s painting her toenails, back against the bottom of the couch as she sits on the floor. She’s picked a cheerful purple, and she works in silence as Josh stretches across the couch above her, typing away on his computer.

“I start one of the training courses on Monday,” she reminds him, and he grunts in response.

Sam pokes him. “Grunting doesn’t count.”

“Congratulations? You’ll do great? I don’t know what you want me to say,” Josh responds, an edge to his words that she’s not comfortable with.

“Don’t be a dick, Josh.”

“Not all of us can be perfect like you, Sammy,” Josh mocks. Sam screws the top on the nail polish bottle and sets it on the table before smacking his arm.

He grumbles something that almost sounds like an apology, and she lets it slide.

Josh has dinner with his family tomorrow; Sam isn’t invited. She isn’t offended, not really, because he’s obviously very touchy about his family life—any vague inquiry she made about the dinner was met with a kind of stony silence. Generally, she wouldn’t pry, but since they were, well, _dating_ , Sam figured it’d be good to learn more about his family aside from the fact that he had twin sisters.

And Josh had already met her mom and James, the soulmate. The dinner had been slightly stilted, and awkward, but Sam liked James despite herself. They’d never be close, probably, but Sam had to trust her mom. Her dad was doing well, keeping busy with work and friends, though he didn’t plan on visiting L.A., despite her wheedling.

“Your dinner’s gonna be fine, Josh,” she says eventually, breaking the silence, and Josh snorts immediately.

“You don’t know my family.”

“You talk about your sisters enough for me to know that they’ll back you up in a pinch.”

“It’s complicated,” he hedges, eventually, but Sam can tell she’s making progress.

“Okay. Then either uncomplicate it for me, or stop taking your bad mood out on me,” she says simply.

Josh’s hand ruffles her hair. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it again.”

“No promises, Sammy, but I’m definitely trying.”

Sam nods at that, Josh’s hand moving with her head. “I guess that’s all I can hope for,” she sighs.

“That’s why you love me,” Josh says lightly, and her heart seizes for a moment, the word _‘love’_ throwing her for a loop.

 

* * *

 

“Sam, when I tell you to not be a stranger, I mean it,” Jess huffs even as she ushers Sam into her apartment.

“Things have been... busy,” Sam says with a smile, hoping it will appease Jess.

It doesn’t.

“Ignore her, she’s been on the warpath all day,” Emily advises from the couch, wine in hand.

“Only because both of you are hopeless!” Jess cries. “Em got in a fight with Matt and will not even admit she’s wrong.”

Emily snorts. “I know I’m wrong, but I’m not apologizing. He needs to sweat a little longer.”

Sam laughs. “Whatever you say, Em. Matt’s the kind of guy who’d bend over backwards to make you happy, I can’t honestly believe he’d wait this long to reach out to you and apologize, even if it’s not his fault.”

Emily just shrugs, taking a sip of her wine. House Hunters International plays on the T.V., it’s the only reality T.V. show they all agree on. Jess shoves a glass of wine into Sam’s hand.

“Drink, you look worried,” Jess offers.

“Josh has dinner with his family tonight, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“Are you finally together?” Jess asks, clapping her hands together. “Please say yes.”

“I... guess?” Sam hedges. Jess groans dramatically, and Emily pats Jess’ thigh.

“You owe me twenty bucks,” Em says, and Jess groans louder.

“Were you guys _betting_ on me?”

“What else were we supposed to do?” Emily says, taking the twenty that Jess gave her and shoving it into her bra for safekeeping. “You weren’t being very forthcoming about it.”

“Even after you promised to keep in touch!” Jessica chides.

Sam rolls her eyes and chugs the rest of her wine glass. _It’s going to be a long night_ , she thinks, turning her phone off so she doesn’t feel the need to check it compulsively for a text from Josh every five minutes.

Once Sam’s on her third glass of wine, she has a pleasant buzz going on as they debate the merits of house one versus house three.

“Guys, house three has a pool and a jacuzzi! Did you see that? Of course they’re gonna pick house three,” Emily says, voice heated.

“ _Please,_ ” Sam says, eyes rolling. “House one has an amazing kitchen, and kitchens are more important than jacuzzis.”

“I still think house one’s gonna win, but only because of the location,” Jess adds, and Em throws a couch pillow at her.

“Traitor! I can’t believe you’re taking her side,” Emily snaps, causing Jess to giggle.

“Blondes have to stick together,” Jess tells her, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulder.

When the narrator tells them that the newly weds picked house three, Emily stands on the couch and does a victory dance. “Suck it, bitches!”

“You’re too drunk for that,” Sam tells her. “Get down before you fall and hit your head.”

Em drops down with a huff and a bounce. “Stop ruining my buzz. Matt won’t debate House Hunters with me, he always just tells me I’m right.”

“Yeah, well, Michael gets _way_ too into it,” Jess says. “He gets super mad when they don’t pick the ‘right’ house.”

“Josh won’t watch House Hunters with me, we normally just watch movies,” Sam tells them, and then realizes her mistake a moment too late. Both girls have turned in their seats, eyes trained on Sam like she’s their prey.

“So,” Jess says slyly. “What’s going on with you and weird-hot-neighbor Josh?”

“Nothing exciting,” Sam grumbles, alcohol loosening her tongue. “I get the feeling there’s something he’s waiting for? Sometimes, everything’s fine, and sometimes, he just clams up.”

“Make him talk to you,” Em says, swirling her wine around her glass.

“That’d just make me a hypocrite, considering I’m the worst sharer ever.”

“Has he spilled about his soul mark yet?” Jess asks, and when Sam shakes her head, she frowns.

“Sam, I want you to be happy, but I just feel weird about a guy lying about his soul mark for this long,” Jess says, voice uneasy. “I mean, isn’t that kind of weird?”

“Give him an ultimatum about it,” Emily says. “You don’t deserve a guy who lies to you about something that important.”

“No, no, I think it’s a good reason, whatever it is. I mean, yeah, I’m kind of pissed about it,” Sam says, “but not enough to end... whatever _this_ is. I don’t think I’ve felt this way about someone before.”

As she says it, Sam winces at how cliche it sounds—but at the same time, it’s the truth. The word ‘ _love_ ’ sneaks into her mind, placed there by Josh’s off-hand remark the day before.

“Oh my god, Sam, do you like, love him?” Jess gasps.

“No! I mean, I don’t know?” Sam retorts, her face heating up. “I just... I think we have a connection, and I’m not gonna blow it just because there’s some stuff he’s not telling me,” she defends herself.

Jess’s brows are furrowed, and even Emily looks slightly concerned.

“Okay, Sam, I didn’t want to be the one to say this, because I know how you feel about soulmates, but you can’t just pretend both of you don’t have soul marks.” Emily states. “Don’t call me a bitch, I’m not trying to tell you to break up with him, but...it’s something that needs to be considered.

Now Sam’s the one furrowing her brows. With the mystery around his soul mark, she hadn’t really even thought about the fact that both of them, apparently, have soulmates.

Instead of filling her with dread, or anxiety—Sam feels defiant. Yeah, maybe her and Josh both have soulmates, but what her and Josh have isn’t something she’ll give up just because she might meet her soulmate at some point.

“We have a connection,” she ends up saying. “Maybe we won’t be forever, but I have a good feeling about this. Josh is worth it.”

Jess starts laughing. “Oh, Sam. Maybe you should tell Josh that, he might be worried about the fact that you both have soulmates. Maybe that’s why he’s been acting so weird?”

It hits Sam like a strike of lightning, and she almost feels stupid— _of course_ Josh would worry about that, and _of course_ he wouldn’t want to tell her that because his soul mark is still under wraps.

“Jess, did I ever tell you that you’re a genius?”

“Not nearly enough,” she preens, “but you’re welcome.”

Sam feels lighter, like there’s a weight off her chest. _God_ , she’s been blind. She resolves to talk to Josh about it tomorrow morning—everything will get cleared up, and she’ll make sure Josh knows that she _loves—no, not loves_. That she’s going to _stay_ with him, soulmate or no soulmate.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was, well, pretty much like Josh expected: _stifling_.

He forgot how much he craved his parents approval and he hated himself for it sometimes. But Hannah and Beth, like always, managed to distract his father and him from hashing anything out too much.

As soon as he kisses his mother goodbye and waves to his father, he turns his phone on, half-wanting to call Sam and let her soothe his anxiety, but she mentioned that she had planned to go to Jess’s to hang out with her and Em. Josh doesn’t begrudge her that, though that doesn’t lessen the temptation.

Josh does have a text from Sam, and his heart stutters. God, he’s already half in love with her already. Well, probably way over half by now.

_Bat-girl Sam [9:52 PM]: Miss you, probably gonna come over after my morning workout tomorrow if that’s okay?_

He quickly keys back a response: _Miss you too, can’t wait to see you._

One day, he’ll be brave enough to tell Sam they’re soulmates. One day, he’ll be brave enough to bring her home to his family.

One day, he’ll tell her he loves her. And one day, he hopes she’ll say she loves him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the final stretch, and I hope you're excited!
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), for still liking me even when I'm gross and sick.
> 
> thanks also to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for being beautiful and "The Conquerer"
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	17. Who Do You Lov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you've all been waiting for....
> 
> Song for this chapter is [Who Do You Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6akoI65lys).

_I'll miss the way that you saw me or maybe the way I saw myself_

_But, I came back to you broken and I've been away too long_

_I hear the words I've spoken and everything comes out wrong_

Sam resists the urge to rush straight over to Josh’s apartment the next morning, so she gears up for a run, keeping a steady pace, music playing through her earbuds. The pounding of her feet hitting the pavement is a soothing and familiar pattern, and she falls into the comfort of it quickly, mind blissfully blank as she completes a trawling circuit through her usual running route.

When she gets back, it’s only nine, so she ends up utilizing the weight set that Mike gave her for Christmas. Sam normally prefers using rock climbing as her other exercise, but her park ranger training is promising to be demanding and she’ll have to work on her own time to keep up. Sam works through the exercises she knows—bicep curls, shoulder presses, tricep kickbacks—the burn in her arms letting her know that she’ll be sore tomorrow.

But the burn helps push thoughts of Josh and misunderstandings out of her mind, and when she finishes her reps she showers, pausing only to briefly study her soul mark. Sam had fallen out of her familiar routine of perching on the counter and studying her soul mark, so it’s odd to resume it so suddenly. But she traces it gently with her fingertips, and with a shake of her head, climbs into the shower.

Freshly showered and caffeinated, Sam pads across the hallway to Josh’s apartment. She knocks at a courtesy, but opens the door without waiting. Josh is standing in the hallway in front of his dryer, slipping on a clean shirt.

Sam catches a flash of black ink plastered across his back, practically a paragraph, but she can’t see anything else before he’s pulled his shirt over his head and has turned around. Cheeks pinkening, she tries to pretend Josh doesn’t have a really, really nice back.

“How was girls night?” he asks, his smirk slightly strained. Obviously, dinner didn’t go well or he’s still worried about the soulmate thing. _Or both,_ she amends. _Josh definitely could be worked up over both._

“It was good, we talked about...stuff,” Sam says, delicately. Of course, by ‘ _stuff’_ she means everyone’s sex life, interspersed with Em and Jess giving her tips. ‘ _I’ve had sex before, guys. I know what to do,’_ she had finally told them, exasperated.

“How was your family dinner?” she adds, trying to head him off before he could ask her about the blush staining her cheeks.

“It was...my family,” Josh says, collapsing on the couch dramatically, sprawled across it.

“That’s descriptive,” Sam says, perching on the edge of the kitchen table. Josh only groans in response, tucking his hands behind his head to peer at her.

She’d love to curl up next to him, but the words threatening to spill from her tongue need to be said face-to-face, and her fingers curl around the edge of the table, seeking strength.

“I think we need to talk about soulmates,” she says, and his face drains of color. Josh pulls himself up, facing her, and the emotions flicker across his face too quickly to tell—maybe fear, maybe hurt, maybe something deeper.

“Sammy, I…” he trails off, words dying in his throat, and Sam waves him away.

“No, let me say this, okay?”

Josh still looks vaguely sick, but he nods.

“You know how I feel about soulmates,” Sam begins, and he nods. “Well, it doesn’t change the fact that for better or for worse, we both have soulmates. We can’t escape it, and everything that it entails, and I know you don’t want to talk about your soul mark—that’s not what I’m asking.”

Sam takes a deep breath, scrounging her soul for courage, but it feels awfully like standing at the edge of a building, about to step off the ledge.

“I’m in this for the long-haul, soulmates or not, Josh. So please don’t worry about these shitty tattoos that are apparently supposed to dictate your life, because I want you in my life, and some pre-ordained shit isn’t going to stop me.”

Josh is standing, now, his expression torn and emotion warring in his eyes. When the moment stretches on unbearably long, Sam finally snaps, “Josh, say something.”

He strides over, brows furrowed, and before she can blink he’s pulling off his shirt, and while this isn’t the direction she expected this conversation to go in, she’s not exactly complaining.

But he turns around a foot in front of her, as he worries the shirt in his hands. Her eyes land on the blocky paragraph on his back, script familiar and words a memory—

_‘Hi, I’m your neighbor and there’s a man in my apartment and he was trying to steal my stuff and I knocked him out with my bat and please, please let me in because I need to call the police and my phone is dead.’_

Sam blinks once, twice, three times—she reaches out, and he flinches briefly when her cold fingers trace the letters on his back as the enormity of this settles into her.

_Soulmates._

Josh speaks, not turning to face her as she continues to trace the ink on his back.

“I know how you feel about soulmates, Sammy, and I’m sorry I lied to you. When I first met you—god, I answered my door and there you were, holding a baseball bat and only wearing a sleep shirt and you did that word vomit of my soul mark, and _I fucking bailed_. I got scared, I wasn’t good enough for you, so _I_ _lied_.”

“And I tried not to get to know you, because you were my perfect soulmate and I didn’t wanna have to pretend to not be. And then I got to know you, and you were beautiful and perfect—and then I learned you weren’t perfect, that you had some baggage, like me. By then, it was too late, I couldn’t tell you the truth, because I’m a fucking coward,” Josh laughs, but it’s bitter and self-mocking.

“It’s okay if you hate me, I know how you feel about soulmates,” he says, and the words twist in his mouth, razor sharp.

Sam slaps the middle of his back with her open palm.

“Shit, Sammy—”

“How fucking dare you try and pretend that this means nothing—that _you_ mean nothing. Trying to play it off like you wouldn’t care if I hated you. Josh, I _can’t_ hate you. I don’t fucking care if you’re my soulmate or if you’re not—I want to be with you, regardless,” Sam says fiercely. “Don’t you dare try and make my choice for me.”

Josh turns, and his eyes are full of a cautious hope that leads her to cradle his face, thumbs brushing his jawline.

“Josh, soulmate or not, I’m in this for the long haul,” Sam whispers, “I swear.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Josh exhales, voice ragged and raw.

“I could say the same to you,” she responds, leaning up to kiss him. He leans down to meet her, catching her lips and kissing her like it’s the first and last time they’ll do this—memorizing the shape of her lips and the taste of her tongue, and Sam melts into it. She only breaks it to kiss a soft line down his jaw and his neck as he holds her tightly.

Sam’s not sure how long they stand there, Sam pressing gentle kisses to his face, neck, shoulders, chest—and Josh runs his hands up and down her, memorizing the skim of his fingers against the curves of her waist and the lines of her back.

 

* * *

 

They end up tangled in his bed that afternoon, emotionally exhausted but content. Sam’s content to trace his soul mark, still enamored by her own handwriting stretching across the canvas of his back. She didn’t expect it to end this way, not by a long shot—but the pieces all fall into place, little quirks suddenly making sense.

Sam’s still miffed about the lies (well, _‘miffed’_ may be the understatement of the century), but she can understand his perspective—a man who didn’t think he deserved to meet his soulmate meets her under distressing circumstances. Josh didn’t expect to see her more than that time; Sam’s the one who barged into his life with promises of takeout and movies.

She’s curled around him, drowsy from information overload and her muscles tired from her park ranger training, but she feels like a sunrise—promises of a better day, with less soulmate drama and more fresh air.

Sam makes a mental note to reach out to Mike, and arranging another day to climb. It’s been two weeks since she’s been able to make it to the climbing gym, and it’s less fun without Mike challenging her limits. She wonders what Mike will say about Josh, and if he’ll try and adopt the big brother role and give him the shovel talk. _That would go over real well._

Her mind wanders to choices, and the domino effect that one action— _a man breaks into my apartment_ —can have on everything in her life. Josh made a choice, his logic bathed in fear and guilt, and they’re both still reeling from the repercussions. Her mom made a choice, her logic bathed in regret and delicate hope, and her family is shaken from the aftermath.

Sam makes a choice—love regardless of soul marks.

The universe twists her around—falling in love with your soulmate, unknowingly. She supposes it’s ironic, but she’s too content to work up the proper rage against the universe for pulling one over on her.

Josh shifts underneath her mindless ministrations, eye cracking open.

“Sam?” he asks, voice roughened by sleep.

“Mmm,” she hums noncommittally, still half lost in her thoughts.

“You’re still here,” Josh whispers, and there’s a wonder in his voice that’s raw and fragile.

“You thought I would leave?” Sam responds teasingly, and Josh rolls over to face her, and she catches a glimpse of the scar on his arm. Before he can pull the covers over himself, she wraps her fingers around her wrist and shifts forward to kiss the scar, feather-light movement against his skin.

“I won’t leave,” she promises. “But I expect the same from you.”

Josh wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, kissing her forehead. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Sammy.”

Sam pokes him in the side and he squirms. “I won’t leave, but that means you have to come more movie premieres with me. And probably double dates with cochise and his _lover_ ,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively on the last word.

“I don’t like the fancy premieres,” Sam groans. “Rich people and high heels make me nervous”

Josh coughs nervously. “Rich people? Well, I have some news to break to you.”

When he confesses, Sam smacks him.

“Bob Washington? _The_ Bob Washington? The film director? Oh my _god_ , Josh! You’re filthy rich, and you still live in this shitty apartment and complain about the price of my vegan takeout! I’m gonna kill you!”

“Jesus, woman!” Josh replies, defending himself with a chuckle. “I just figured you should know, my family’s kind of loaded...and once my parents find out about you, you’re gonna have to attend more fancy events. I know you hate the tight dresses and high heels, but I sure like ‘em,” he adds with a leer.

“Creep,” Sam says. “And ugh, I thought becoming a park ranger meant I could get rid of all those medieval torture devices. And I still cannot _believe_ your dad is Bob Washington. Explains the origin of all your film-nerdiness.”

“I resent that. I cultivated this film expertise all on my own.”

Sam just laughs, pressing a breathless kiss to his collarbone. “I’m sure you did,” she soothes, and Josh shifts to reach her lips, a kiss that could be considered anything but chaste as his lips moved against hers. When they break apart, Sam’s sure that her lips match his—pink and swollen.

“For a soulmate, you’re not so bad,” Sam says, breathy and voice hitching slightly over the word ‘ _soulmate’_

“I’d say the same about you, Sammy.”

_Everything goes quiet, it's like I just can't move_

_You say I might as well try it, there's nothing left to lose_

_Nothing will change if you never choose_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter down...I was gonna post this yesterday but I woke up with a raging, incredibly painful ear infection so I went to the doctor, and it turns out I'm fighting off not only an ear infection, but a very mild form of influenza B! 
> 
> Basically, I feel like dog shit. 
> 
> But the next (and last) chapter should be up before Wednesday, and thank you so much for sticking with me on this fun writing journey!
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), for still liking me even when I'm gross and sick.
> 
> thanks also to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for being beautiful and "The Conquerer"
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!


	18. Astoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a wild ride, folks. Comments are always appreciated, especially if you have any future ideas for what I should write.
> 
> Song for this chapter is [Astoria](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYcDgRv53lk). Is it ironic to end the fic with the first song off an album? Maybe, but I like Astoria better than End Of An Era.
> 
> EDIT:
> 
> Guess who's seeing Marianas Trench? Half of my wants to bring a printed version of this fanfic and be like, "here, this is how much I love your music" but that would be a little weird.

_Now we begin a harlequin, kaleidoscope in spite of when_

_Top of the world to lowest worth, from blackest pearl to slower birth_

_Don't remind me what the price is when left to my own devices_

_'Cause I'll find out in all due time what happens to never say die_

Sam, in her humble, soulmate-cynical opinion, thinks weddings are gaudy, expensive, and generally useless. It’s not the commitment thing she has a problem with, it’s the ceremony around it—but here she is, in an uncomfortable dress and pinching shoes, smiling vaguely at the crowd.

“ _Where is she?”_ she hisses to her former neighbor.

Josh just shrugs, and while the easy smile pasted on his lips makes him seem comfortable, Sam can recognize the tenseness in his shoulders for what it is.

She squeezes his hand, a silent sign of solidarity, and Josh’s shoulders relax slightly.

“Now go find the groom, and I’m gonna go try and find the bride.”

Josh gives her a mock salute. “Sir, yes sir!”

Sam only rolls her eyes before she sets off at the fastest pace she can manage in her pinching heels and stupid dress. Honestly, it isn’t the worse bridesmaid dress in the world, the flair at the hips and the sweetheart neckline could be considered _pretty_ in the right light—but this stupid, bouncy bow at her back could be considered the devil incarnate. It got stuck on anything she walks by—doorknobs, the edges of counters, anything.

Her search yields fruit when she reaches the gardens—Ashley, white gown in all, is sitting on a bench, looking very demure and bride-like until a squirrel jumps out of a bush next to her, and Ashley lets out a sharp _“fuck!”_

Sam snorts, and Ashley finally notices Sam.

“Any reason you’re out here, instead of inside where you can exchange rings with that guy you love?”

Ashley doesn’t laugh like Sam expects her to—instead, she looks nervous and guilty. Sam picks her way through the garden, mindful she doesn’t get her heel stuck in the springy dirt, and sits next to one of her best friends.

“What if I’m making a mistake?” Ashley whispers mournfully, and Sam blinks.

“A mistake?” she asks slowly, trying to prompt Ashley into an explanation.

“Yeah, Chris is my soulmate, but what if...what if I limited myself? What if I was so focused on finding my soulmate I missed out on something?” Ashley asks Sam, fists bunched into the satiny fabric of her dress.

“We all miss out on things,” Sam replies simply. “There’s a million routes for us to take in life, and we just have to do our best by our decisions, you know? And you and Chris are great—honestly, you have one of the best relationships I’ve ever seen. But I can’t say that maybe there wasn’t someone else out there with any kind of certainty—but Ashley, do you love Chris?”

Ashley nods at this, eyes blazing. “Of course I love him! I just...I’m scared.”

Sam puts her hand on top of Ashley’s. “I’ll bet Chris is scared too, but Ash, you’re one of the smartest people I know. You know what the right choice is for you, so make it.”

Sam stands up, brushing off the back of her dress. “I’ve gotta find Josh, make sure everything’s set with Chris. Don’t be late for your own wedding!”

Ashley giggles at that, and the fists bunched in the fabric of her dress finally relax.

Sam makes her way back across the garden, biting back a quiet curse when her heel sinks slightly into the dirt. Hopefully, it’s not too noticeable on the satin pumps, but Sam looks for a quiet corner to slip off her shoe and clean off the muck. She’s the maid of honor, and it wouldn’t do for her to look _too_ shabby, despite her vehement hatred of painful high heels.

She manages to find one right by a tiny closet door, and she leans heavily against the wall, balancing on one leg as she slips her shoe off.

Focusing solely on the task in front of her, Sam doesn’t notice Josh’s approach until he’s a foot away.

“Holy shit!” Sam jumps, dropping the heel on the floor with a clatter.

Josh beats her to grabbing it, but ends up on one knee, shoe balanced in one hand. “Cinderella, I have your glass slipper,” he teases, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Taking the shoe off his palm and slipping it back on her foot, she straightens up.

“Did I mention I love that dress on you?”

“Only about a thousand times.”

“I can say it a thousand more, or I can show it to you by peeling it off of you,” Josh says, wiggling his eyebrows, but it doesn’t completely ruin the effect of his words, and her cheeks pinken slightly.

About sixty seconds later, Sam finds herself in the broom closet she was leaning against earlier, one leg hiked around Josh’s thigh as he gently kisses his way up from the cleavage of her dress towards the column of her neck, mindful to not leave marks.

His hand slides down the satin of her dress, tracing the curve of her back until it reaches—

_That god forsaken bow._

His hand becomes entangled with the hellbeast, and amidst quiet murmurs of curse words, he pulls his hand back.

“ _Shit,_ Josh, you ripped off the bow!” Sam whispers furiously, eyes zeroed in on the scraggly fabric tangled around two of his fingers.

“I mean, you said you hated the bow,” Josh offer weakly, and Sam just shoots him another glare.

Sam feels around the back of her dress, but the ripped bow only left behind a few loose pieces of thread and no hole in the fabric— _honestly, the bow was destined to fall off anyway_ , Sam rationalizes.

Josh looks at her, hair disheveled and a vaguely apologetic look on his face. “So, I take it that the moment’s gone?”

“Moment is _definitely_ gone.”

“That’s okay, at least now I can say I’ve ripped off your clothes in a broom closet.”

“More like ‘ripped off a piece of poorly sewn fabric,’ but whatever makes you happy,” Sam sighs.

Sam takes the bow from his hands, trying to figure out if she could jerry rig some kind of quick-fix for the ceremony, at least.

“Did you know Chris was freaking out earlier? Afraid he was making some crazy mistake by marrying Ashley,” Josh says casually.

“Oh?” Sam asks distractedly, turning the satin bow over in her hands.

“Yeah, he was afraid he may have rushed the proposal, even though they were soulmates.”

“What’s beings soulmates have to do with anything?”

Josh tilts his head. “Soulmates typically get married, Sammy,” he replies dryly.

“Do _you_ want to get married?” Sam asks, finally looking up at him. His eyes are serious, and his hands fidgety. _Is this the point of the conversation? I swear to god, if he proposes in a broom closet, I’m gonna kill him._

“No. I mean, yes—well, not yet. But, I mean, if I asked...would you say yes?” Josh manages to say this all in one breath, and Sam has to take a moment to process the sheer amount of words per second in that sentence.

“I mean, marriage has never been on my radar, Josh. But I do know that I want to be with you, and no ring in the world is nice enough to influence my decision on that,” Sam tells him seriously, reaching out with one hand to brush her thumb against his jawline.

“I just think that’s what everyone expects us to do, as soulmates. But, Sammy? You’ve made me a very happy man. Thank you for being you, and not perfect—fuck, we can live in sin the rest of our life and never tie the proverbial knot, and I’ll still the be the fucking happiest man alive.”

“Josh,” Sam says, and tries to fight any kind of tears. _Shit, emotions, not now_. “Josh, you’ve made me a better person. You’ve made me happier then I ever imagined would be in the cards for me. I look at my soul mark and for the first time in my life it doesn’t scare me, or hurt me. So marriage or no marriage, I’m in for the long haul.”

Josh’s expression could break her heart—full of naked hope, and she’s sure hers looks pretty similar, but the moment is subsequently ruined by her cell phone vibrating from within the confines of the bust of her dress.

“I thought that girls didn’t actually put stuff there,” Josh says incredulously as she slips it out of her dress, sliding open a text message from Jess.

_Jess [11:47 AM]: Where r u??? ceremony’s starting in 5._

“We’ve gotta go, let’s talk romance and feelings later!” Sam says, giving Josh quick peck on the cheek.

Sam attempts to fix her hair, and Josh stuffs the bow into the mop bucket in the corner. Sam can still see some uneasiness on Josh’s face, so she leans up for one more quick kiss.

“God, Josh, we’ve come so far. We started as slightly antagonistic neighbors to people in an actual relationship. And yes, we’ve had bumps, and lies, and miscommunication, and fights—but we’re stronger because of it. We’re not Chris and Ashley. We don’t have to be Chris and Ashley, we just have to be Sam and Josh. And Sam and Josh can get married in five years, ten years, or never—I just want to be with you, in whatever way that is.”

“Sammy, you’re such a sap,” Josh teases, but his voice is slightly rawer than normal.

“No time for sappiness, Mr. Washington, we’ve got a wedding to save. We’re gonna be the best maid of honor and best man to ever walk this earth,” Sam tells him seriously.

“Well, Ms. Kamkin, there’s no one else I’d rather do this with.”

“Aww, Josh, I bet you say that to all the girls,” Sam teases.

“You’re the only girl for me, Sammy.”

_I'll see whatever doesn't make me stronger kills me_

_But it's gonna to be a long year till the hospital can find hope in me_

_Tell me I survive_

_Do I survive you, Astoria?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been crazy, y'all. I had a lot of fun writing this fic, but I definitely struggled near the end, and then was delayed by wisdom teeth surgery, getting sick, visiting family, and generally doing adult things like getting my car fixed, working, school, etc. I definitely need a break from writing, and I know a lot of questions go unanswered and there are some loose ends, but that's okay. I've been playing around with a side story that's just short, unrelated chapters that take place in this universe, but nothing I'd start right now.
> 
> But please, read and review! Let me know what you liked! Let me know what you thought I didn't do right! This is how I improve my skills, folks, so tell me things.
> 
> thanks for my beta and roomie [angelheadedcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedcas), EVEN THOUGH SHE'S ABANDONING ME TO THE DORM GHOST WHICH IS RUDE
> 
> thanks also to [talverrar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talverrar/pseuds/talverrar) for being beautiful and my bae.
> 
> Follow me on my [tumblr](http://veryspookybisexual.tumblr.com/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lost And Found](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127449) by [CaptainJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJ/pseuds/CaptainJ)




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